


Rather be the hunter

by Tisaniere



Series: Business is business [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Gangs, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 143,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisaniere/pseuds/Tisaniere
Summary: Crime Families have existed for generations across North America in a web of fraught deals, bloody feuds, old enemies and struggling allegiances. The thirties Families of today's network are younger, sleeker, less bogged down in historical differences. But there's something stirring. There are Families out there that don't want to play by the new generation's rules, and there's blood being spilled to try to sort it out.Tyler Seguin, the young and enigmatic aide to the Boston Family, finds himself irreparably and dangerously entangled in the mess._________Mob AU - now completed!
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin, Patrice Bergeron/Tyler Seguin
Series: Business is business [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557118
Comments: 138
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed notes at the end - please read!

_But as sure as God made black and white,_

_What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light. _

BOSTON

Boston was a light sleeper. It shivered through the night with sirens, the rumble of trucks, the smash of glasses as patrons rolled in and out of the pubs and bars. Snow, rain, fog and frigid air floated in around the water in the winter, and in the summer the humidity warmed the murky soup of the city to a mutinous bubble. Lights and life flickered all night from the top floor of the Financial District to the shadows under abandoned bridge arches. It never truly rested.

It was one of the things Patrice Bergeron liked about the city. He was a terrible sleeper too. It was why he found himself listening to news he didn’t care about on the radio at two in the morning, waiting for a sound through the Boston snow. 

He checked his phone. Nothing. He took a deep breath to stop himself from throwing his damn cell down the garbage disposal. He retreated to his office instead to hack away at a spreadsheet he didn’t even need to deal with. He sank a glass of red wine and then went in search of something stronger. 

Brad Marchand was in the hallway when he exited his office. He had the face of a guy who didn't get enough sleep and wouldn't want to even if he had the chance. He gave his boss a look somewhere between relieved and concerned. 

“They’re back.”

“They? Both of them?”

“Yep.” Brad gestured to the kitchen. 

“Thanks.”

Tyler Seguin was sprawled on the marble-topped kitchen island and bleeding from the mouth when Patrice entered. His ass was parked on a stool but his upper body was spread on the cool marble. The grey henley he wore bore a stripe of sweat up the back. Patrice leant over the surface and hooked a finger under Tyler’s chin. The younger man looked up at him with something avid in his eyes, still a little dazed.

“How do you always get yourself into such trouble?”

“Who knows,” Tyler said. His voice was like dragged gravel and the movement aggravated the split in his lip further.

“I think you know.” Patrice traced a finger across the angry splash of a bruise on pale skin.

Tyler hummed into the contact.

“So, Stamkos wasn’t happy to see you.”

It wasn’t a question, because they’d known exactly how Stamkos would react to Tyler showing his face in Tampa.The whole trip had been screwed from the word go, but sometimes visits needed to go wrong for something else to go right. It was the game they played, a well-timed dance. Sometimes a beat needed to be missed to make the next move at the right rhythm. He didn’t feel guilty about sending Tyler in there, the kid knew what he was doing. And he’d gone in with the knowledge that their old friend Stamkos wasn’t going to welcome him with a drink and open arms.

“Do you need Tuukka to take a look at you?”

Patrice knew his medical guy Tuukka Rask was somewhere nearby, roaming the house like a particularly malevolent house cat.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding on my kitchen surfaces. Sit up.”

Tyler peeled himself off the marble and rested his chin on his hand. He looked concussed, that was for sure. Patrice sighed and looked back over his shoulder at the doorway where Adam McQuaid was standing inconspicuously, hearing but not listening. He met Patrice’s gaze for a moment then pushed off the wall and disappeared.

Tyler fanned his fingers out in front of him and stared at his hands unseeingly. Patrice had always admired them for their size, the length of his narrow fingers striated with enough muscle to make them deceptively strong. Patrice picked Tyler’s hand up and rubbed the pad of his thumb against them. The knotted knuckles were split and half way to healing. Aggravated war wounds.

Tuukka Rask entered the kitchen with the black zip up bag they all knew and feared. It meant tablets and tweezers and stitches and iodine. The Finn’s hair was a batch of errant curls made even more pronounced by the damp of a shower. His hawkish expression didn’t soften an inch as he looked Tyler up and down.

Tyler grinned. “Hey Tuuks.”

“How long since you got back?” Tuukka asked as he placed the bag down and moved around the side of the island. Patrice lowered Tyler’s hand back to the table gently.

“Came straight from the airport.”

“You flew like that?”

“I was with Biz. No-one dared ask.”

Patrice turned to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. Tyler complained when he realised one wasn’t for him and Patrice told him to shut the hell up. If Tuukka hadn’t been there then maybe, but giving a concussed patient a beer wasn’t worth that look in Rask’s eyes that made mere mortals go cold.

Patrice uncapped his beer and settled onto one of the other stools to watch the proceedings. Tuukka asked Tyler what day it was, what year it was, who the president was. Tyler just about stumbled through that one. No matter what cross fire they were in, Tuukka was always there to make sure everyone knew what day of the week it was and if not, send them to go lie down in a dark room.

“Where’s Biz?” Tuukka asked, unfolding a compartment of his bag. 

“He’s gone to crash downstairs. We had a long flight.”

Patrice tossed a glare towards the kitchen door. “So he just helps himself to a bedroom in my house?” 

“He’s like a vampire. You invite him in once, you can’t get rid of him,” Tuukka commented dryly as he sterilised some needles. 

Tuukka got to work on the cuts that needed stitches. He let Tyler put his own band aids on the scabs across his fingers to keep his hands occupied whilst he worked at his lip and a gouge across the back of his neck.

“You’ve got glass in here,” Rask said, like Tyler had deliberately kept that from him.

“That’s why it hurts like a motherfucker then.”

Tuukka snapped open a compartment of his black bag with a disapproving flourish and pulled out the tweezers.

“This is going to hurt,” he said. It sounded threatening, but Patrice knew Tyler was getting the soft treatment. He’d seen Tuukka work on the guys he didn’t actually like. It looked like a fate worse than death.

Even with Tuukka’s gentle touch Tyler couldn’t stay still enough to get the glass out. Tuukka gestured for Patrice to come over.

“Hold his shoulder, there, and then keep his head turned that way.”

Patrice did as he was told. Hierarchy or not, he always did what Tuukka told him when it came to this stuff. Plus, it was his fault Tyler had glass in his neck in the first place.

He gripped Tyler’s left shoulder with one hand and stretched his neck to the right, pulling the muscle and skin tight. He heard a soft hiss go through Tyler’s teeth as the glass jostled against tissue. Patrice slid a hand up into Tyler’s hair and pressed his fingertips into the planes of his skull, securing his head enough for Tuukka to give an affirming grunt.

Tyler’s nose brushed against Patrice’s chest and breathed deeply into the fabric. Tyler moved an inch forward, the only movement Patrice’s hold allowed, and pressed his forehead right over the thump of his heart. Patrice let him stay there and Tyler didn’t make a noise as Tuukka finally released the tiny slither of glass from the gash. Then one more.

“Who bottled you?” Patrice asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into Tyler’s lips.

“Tyler Johnson, I think.”

Tyler made a fucked off ‘ow’ as Tuukka cleaned up the area with an antiseptic wipe.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Guy can’t fight with his hands, he has to use tools.”

“Well he found a good one.”

Tuukka stitched the wound and Patrice let Tyler’s head go. The younger man straightened up, winced, then snatched Patrice’s beer from his hand and downed a gulp.

“Ugh, I need something stronger than that.”

Tuukka smacked two Percocet tablets down onto the countertop and took the beer bottle away with the same movement.

“Those are fine. If you start puking let me know.”

He zipped up his implements of medicinal torture into the bag and picked up his own beer bottle.

“So Tampa went well, then?”

“Tampa went as well as we wanted it to. By the way, Biz sends his love.”

Tuukka didn’t blink at that. “What now? They going to talk to us?”

“They got their anger out on me, they know they overstepped the line and that they’re in the shit. They’ll turn up to the talks next week. They’ve got to.”

That was all Tuukka wanted to know. He nodded to Patrice, took his beer and his bag, and left them to it.

Tyler and Patrice ate reheated takeout at the breakfast bar. The original architect of the house imagined this area to be a romantic place for Mom and Dad to eat breakfast, drink coffee and discuss the day whilst looking out the bay window at their landscaped garden. They probably hadn’t imagined the head of the Boston Family spooning lukewarm chow mien in the early hours of the morning whilst one of his men prodded at a box of sweet and sour pork balls. Outside the window snow fell on a garden that Patrice would have let run to a jungle if it weren’t for the lady who ran his house hiring gardeners to do the work.

“This tastes like shit.”

“Should have been here when it was hot.”

Tyler leant over and snaffled some chow mien. The food was even colder by the time Paul Bissonnette arrived.

“I thought I smelt Chinese.”

“Where have you been?” Patrice asked, his mouth full of some of Tyler’s sweet and sour pork.

“Sleeping off your dirty work. What kind of age do we live in where people sucker punch someone in the back of the head? Hey, can I have a sweet and sour ball?”

“Touch them and I’ll stab you,” Tyler said, switching the fork in his hand to his palm the same way he would with his flip knife.

“You never let me touch your balls anymore,” Biz said with a huff. He scrounged a box of cold rice from the fridge and dragged a chair up to the breakfast bar to join them. Patrice gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You’re an old man now, Biz. These kids don’t respect the rules anymore. You need fixing up?”

“I’m fine. Tyler stitched me where I needed it.”

“Tyler? Really?”

“He’s got steady hands. Didn’t seem to trust me to return the favour. I see Tuukka got a hold of you.”

“He’s an actual qualified doctor and he knows what he’s doing with a needle. I just make it up as I go along.”

The snow sifted gently across the back garden as the three of them talked, knocking insults back and forth in an easy, relaxed way of guys who had known each other for years. Patrice wound it up when he saw Seguin’s eyelids start to sag.

He shook Bissonnette’s hand and thanked him, sincerely this time, for helping the Family out. Biz waved it off and went to find somewhere to doze until the time came for his early flight back to Arizona.

In being diplomatic Patrice had lost sight of Tyler and the house was silent.

Patrice Bergeron’s house was his home, but it was also the centre of the power he held in Boston. He had rooms upstairs for his closest soldiers, or at least the single ones who hadn’t got a family of their own to go home to at the end of a long day. If it weren’t for Patrice’s stringent rules about cleanliness and keeping their personal life out of his home it could have easily turned into a frat house. But no-one so much as dared thought about sneaking one night stands up the stairs, there were three, healthy square meals a day available to them, and the number of beers in the fridge remained fun but respectable. That was the way Bergeron ran things and it worked. It meant that someone was always around to take in and disseminate news: good, bad, ugly. It also bred a high level of loyalty that he’d yet to see falter. And meant that the house worked as a hub with an ever rotating shift pattern, so that the Boston Family ran 24/7.

Upstairs at the front of the house Patrice had his own private rooms. There were guys who had lived in the house for years and had never seen the inside of Patrice’s private hallway, never mind his bedroom. He liked to keep it that way.

For now, the only sound was the laundry room at the back of the house rumbling with the day’s load. Ference was on overnight duty and watching a Disney movie in the living room. Outside the blast proof front door he heard someone’s footsteps crunching in the snow on the driveway.

Patrice took the stairs to the upper floor and came across Brad, barefoot and only wearing a pair of shorts. Patrice wasn’t sure if he’d been hanging around waiting for him or if he’d been about to head downstairs for something.

“You turning in?”

“Yeah. You should too, Marchy. Long day tomorrow.”

“Florida are going to pitch a fit about what those two did down there.”

“That’s kind of what we wanted. Let me know if you get a call.”

Brad nodded and retreated back into his bedroom. Patrice lingered, wondering whether he should investigate where Tyler had ended up. But his body protested, and his eyes weren’t far behind, so he dragged himself towards his suite.

Patrice pushed the door shut softly behind him and locked it gently. With that noise he felt at least some of the day’s woes slip from his shoulders. The clock read 04:17 and he had to get his head together for the day that was about to come. He headed to the bathroom and stripped as he went.

Patrice was completely unsurprised when he came out of the ensuite and found Tyler sprawled in his bed. He hadn’t heard the door. No-one ever did. Patrice only had a towel draped loosely around his hips and when Tyler’s eyes fluttered open he didn’t hesitate to look him up and down.

“Hello Goldilocks.”

“Tuukka always says we shouldn’t be alone if we have a concussion.”

Patrice threw his cell on the nightstand and placed his watch carefully next to it.

“Didn’t fancy cuddling up to Marchy tonight?”

“He snores.”

Patrice was aware that Tyler had an apartment in the city. He’d been there once when the rookie started out under his wing, but Tyler didn’t seem to care about playing house there. He spent most of his time roaming Boston like a stray. He always had space in Bergeron’s house, a room under the sloping eaves filled with dog hair and ripped henleys, but it was common knowledge that Tyler hardly used it even when he was in the house for the night.

Patrice retrieved a pair of shorts from his drawers and pulled them on, aware but unperturbed by Tyler’s stare. He crossed over to the bed and pulled back the covers on his side.

Outside the closed curtains it was snowing thickly. The world had a muffled, white quality and a frozen edge. It was warm in the house though, even warmer under the covers of his California King sized bed - the one thing in his life he could say he truly loved.

Patrice shoved a pillow up and backwards so that he had his chest comfortably pressed up against the headboard. It gave him a nice view of Tyler - a peek of the cut of his hips, the dips of his abs. Patrice slid a finger down the length of Tyler’s naked torso, tracing along the hard relief of muscle until he reached the trail of hair under his belly button. He crooked his finger and lifted the sheet an inch.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Tyler smiled sweetly. “You’ve never had a problem finding me naked in your bed before.”

“Who said I had a problem?”

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

Patrice shook his head slowly. “Long day.”

Tyler blinked up at him, his head tilted back enough to show the long column of his neck. He wasn’t dumb, this kid.

“Florida is sorted, Bergy. They’re struggling. They know they need to toe the line or they’re going to get swallowed.”

Patrice flattened his hand against Tyler’s chest, resting it heavy against his ribcage. He could feel Tyler’s heart beating, slow and steady. On anyone else it could have been the concussion, or the Percocet, or the illicit vodka that he’d definitely stolen once out of Tuukka’s eye line, but Patrice knew Tyler’s body well enough.

Patrice let his breathing follow the hot rise and fall under the palm of his hand.

“Maybe. Florida might be struggling but it’s not dying. They’re going to fight before it gets that far, and they fight dirty.”

“Kucherov lost a hand.”

“What?”

“I saw him, at the bar, when we turned up to make a nuisance of ourselves. He doesn’t have a right hand anymore.”

“What the hell happened to it?”

“Don’t know. We didn’t have much chance to chat before we got jumped.”

“When were you going to tell me this?”

“When you asked for the full story. You were too concerned with my head and my face when we got in to ask me for a thorough debrief.”

“I thought I just established that you were thoroughly debriefed?”

Tyler’s face creased into one of his huge, cheshire cat grins, his laugh all teeth and beaming amusement. “Holy fuck, _Bergy_. That was such a Dad joke. How old are you?”

Patrice leant over and kissed him to shut it up. It was messy, upside down and Tyler still laughed the whole way through, but fuck if he didn’t need it at the end of a week like this.

Patrice threw his arm back and turned off his bed light, the one remaining light in the room.

“Is getting fucked on Tuukka’s list of things not to do with a concussion?” Tyler asked against Patrice’s mouth in the dark.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see notes for warnings. I got a bit of dialogue inspiration for the fight from this snippet in a mic'd up video: https://youtu.be/1w4b0dOfIkA?t=189

DALLAS

Valeri Nichushkin was waiting for Tyler at Dallas Fort Worth arrivals with two takeaway Starbucks cups and a wry smile. Tyler thought about trying to slink past the Russian but Val’s eyes met his the second he stepped out of baggage claim with his luggage in hand, and the chance was gone.

Tyler had met Val once, briefly, in a parking lot outside a warehouse in Boston some years before. Tyler had watched their product get loaded into the back of a truck destined for Dallas. Val had watched his boss step into his car at the end of a successful deal. Their eyes had met briefly across the expanse of tarmac and they’d shared a nod, that was it. But in the arrivals hall Tyler recognised the wide angles of his face and the pinch of his eyebrows as he scanned the crowd. Val didn’t need much help recognising Tyler either.

“Tyler Seguin.” Val extended a hand and one of the Starbucks cups. “Jamie Benn ask me to pick you up.”

Tyler shook his hand and peered into the cup.

“Thanks.”

Val gestured to the holdall on Tyler’s shoulder. “That all you got?”

“Right now, yeah.”

Tyler tried not to think too much about the small U-haul he’d loaded up back in Boston, or Marshall in his crate behind the cab seats panting and listening to Rich Peverley’s poor choice of a road trip playlist.

Val drove him in heavy but friendly silence from Dallas Fort Worth to his new home. As they scaled the highway the gleaming silver high rises fell away to sprawling suburbia, then trees and private neighbourhoods. By the time Val rolled them into the driveway he was feeling nauseous trying to take everything in.

“This is mine?”

“Yes.”

“You’re yanking my chain.”

Val laughed and let himself out the car.

“Let me show you round.”

The house was two stories, built with a sandy brick and a terracotta-coloured roof, set firmly in the middle of a wide rectangular plot. Inside, the house was laid out with wide rooms and tall ceilings, everything designed in a neutrally masculine way. The kitchen was fully stocked. The fridge was full of beers he hadn’t heard of and wrapped steaks that were beet red and expensive. The California king beds in the three bedrooms were made with clean sheets, there were fluffy towels in his en-suite, and the pool out back - a fucking _pool_ \- was scrubbed and blue.

It gave a clear message: they did things differently in Dallas.

“Jamie will be in touch,” said Val, after he watched Tyler explore his house with gentle amusement.He slid a burner phone across the marble countertop to Tyler. “The number is programmed in, so is Jamie’s phone for week and any other you need. Will give you new one next week.”

Tyler tried to offer Val a drink, but he didn’t even know where the glasses were kept. Val gave him a conciliatory smile and left him to it.

Alone and stationary for the first time in so long, Tyler stood in the middle of his new home and let out a long, not-so steady breath. He still smelt like the airplane and his back and head pulsed in alternating throbs.

When Patrice had told him that Dallas was the best place for him, and that Tyler was to bridge no argument, Tyler had felt an aching in the pit of his stomach like an insatiable hunger, or an aggressive hangover. It gnawed away at him in a way he hadn’t been able to articulate. Not to Patrice, as he stood with his lips and hips just inches from Tyler’s own and explained it all. Not to Brad when he told him in his best friend’s bed two days later. Not when Tuukka surprised everyone by offering Tyler a lift to the airport on the day, and gave him a bone-crushing hug as he left him at departures.

Life was different. There wasn’t much he could do about it. So he picked up his new keys and explored his home. And tried not to think too much about it.

* * *

In Dallas the sky was all-consuming and blue, the temperature humid and heavy, the light piercing. Night came swiftly, a wave of total blackness, speckled only by the white lights of malls and high rises. Tyler watched the sunset and sunrise, unable to sleep, and tried to understand Dallas just a little bit through the view of his windows.

Thirty six hours after Tyler landed Rich Peverley arrived with his truck and Tyler’s dog, cheery and full of Boston gossip. Tyler lapped it up, delighted in Marshall’s affection, let his friend rattle around his new house and help him sort out what things went where, how the stove top worked - he’d only managed take-out pizza so far - and what the taps and buttons in the expensive showers did. 

Pevs stayed for most of a day and a night, and Tyler didn’t want him to leave in the sharp dawn of the second day. Jamie still hadn’t been in touch, and as far as Tyler could tell he wasn’t expected to do anything but wait.

“Good luck kid,” said Peverley. He hugged Tyler tightly, and when he pulled away he rested his hand against the side of Tyler’s neck and squeezed. “Seriously. Look after yourself. This is a new start. You deserve this.”

Tyler swallowed. What did he do to deserve this?

“I hear Dallas needs foot soldiers,” he said instead, eyes a little wet.

“Think I’m a bit old-school for them,” Rich laughed. He left as the sun began another day of blinding light and heat, and Tyler felt the adrenaline from the move begin to drain away.

Tyler heard about Peverley’s accident 24 hours after it happened. He was hauling his patio furniture into a better formation when Brad rang on his old Boston phone.

“Hey. I’m in Tennessee.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s ok, but I’ve just come down to pick Pevs up from hospital.”

Tyler stood in shocked silence for a moment, the phone in one hand and a decorative outdoor cushion in the other.

“What?”

“He was driving back on the highway, and the doctor said his heart just stopped.”

“_What_? Why?”

“Apparently he has a heart condition he didn’t know about. The truck swerved into the central median, he was going pretty fast.”

“But he’s ok?”

“Broken arm and the heart thing but yeah Segs, he’s fine. I’m just waiting to go in to see him. Looch was his emergency contact, and then we called Nashville. They’ve looked after him well, they got him to a good hospital in the city. I’m flying back with him tonight, as long as they discharge him this evening like they said they would.”

“Well…fuck,” was all Tyler could manage to say. He put the cushion down and collapsed onto his new patio couch.

“You think it was all the driving?”

“He might have been tired, kind of wired on caffeine. But that’s not the only reason why, Tyler. He runs all the time so it could have happened on any of those. He was a ticking time bomb.”

Tyler let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I guess. Tell him I say hi. And I hope that he feels better. And, well, I’m sorry. I’ll call him, when you guys get back to Boston.”

Tyler could hear something going on behind Brad on the phone, and for a moment Brad’s muffled voice talked away from the receiver.

“Everything ok?”

“Er, yeah, just got to sign some paperwork. I’d better go. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks. I’m glad he’s OK.”

“He was pretty fucking lucky. And hey, thank god it didn’t happen when he had all your stuff and Marshall in the back of the truck. But they can manage the heart condition apparently, it shouldn’t affect him too much.”

Tyler felt his own heart slow, his stomach unclench as the panic receded. Brad was right, and he quietly sent a little prayer that Marshall hadn’t been stuck in his crate in the mangled wreck of the truck. He rubbed a hand over his dog’s head and the touch settled him again.

Tyler wanted to talk to Brad properly, to explain what Dallas was like. How his house had two grills but no real grass. How everyone in the city ate steak and seemingly nothing else, and their takeaway pizzas were shit. But Brad was in a rush, had to help Peverley get dressed before being discharged, and Tyler was left listening to the dial tone for a long while. He felt something snap in him and with a vicious throw he hurled his old Boston cell right to the back of the yard.

He woke up at 4 in the morning and hacked through the undergrowth in the gloom of pre-dawn to find it again and tuck it under his pillow.

* * *

Tyler spent a lot of time thinking in his first few days of Dallas. He didn’t have much else to do since the Family were leaving him alone for the time being. He wasn’t sure if it was to allow a period of adjustment, or whether he was being tested. Would he touch down, spend one night in a bed paid for by his new boss, then go running back to Boston?

He would if he could.

Tyler wasn’t good on his own for long stretches. He found the quiet exhausting. He called home and talked to his Mom and his sisters. He took Marshall on walks with his headphones in to drown out his thoughts with music. But all that took up such a small part of the day he only had one other thing to do: think.

He’d mostly been thinking about Dallas, and Jamie Benn.

A few brief connections came to mind but he only remembered one direct interaction with the guy.

It’d been in the height of summer 2012, and Sergei Gonchar’s daughter was getting married. Gonchar was one of those figures in North America that demanded the sort of cross-Family respect reserved for only the legendary and the very powerful. Gonchar could never keep anything truly personal, so he used big events in his family and friends’ lives to organise what was essentially an international conference of organised crime.

For his daughter’s wedding a select few members from all Families in America and Canada were invited. The idea was that conversations would happen in dark corners away from the happy couple, and the free alcohol would perhaps lubricate some new deals that needed to be made.

Tyler heard the rapid shutter of a camera as he and Patrice stepped out of their town car at the reception venue. Chara and his family had attended the wedding ceremony itself, but a group of the Boston guys had been invited to the reception only. Tyler was in his best, and only, suit. He and Patrice had only just started sleeping with each other and he was desperate to impress in his frankly uncomfortable formal attire. Patrice wasn’t the Boston Captain quite yet, but Chara was paving the way for Bergeron to take over as the summer ended. It made him an important target for other Families who needed to get their oar in with Boston. And a prime subject for the FBI camera lens.

Nathan Horton flashed a middle finger towards the bushes where the agents were conspicuously hiding, which made Tyler giggle. Tuukka smirked. The agents had plenty of photos of that smile. “Don’t wind them up Horty.”

“Bastards.”

Patrice led the group into the party, leaving behind the snap of long lens cameras and entering a world of 80s floor-fillers, caviar and expensive Russian vodka.

The reception was laid out on a stretch of Gonchar land not far from his family home. There was a barn that on the surface looked authentic, but was in fact erected just for the wedding and then artfully distressed to look the part. Inside, the guests ordered from an open bar and picked at the evening buffet, where luxury Russian delicacies sat alongside buffalo steak and hand cut fries. Outside, the field was drenched in fairy lights and storm lamps, and a second open bar kept everyone out there well stocked. The party split so that the family and friends of the couple remained in the well decorated barn. Gonchar’s Family connections ended up in the field, drinking the bar dry and mingling.

Tyler knew most of the people within the Families and ignored everyone else. He hung out with foot soldiers he was friendly enough to lower his inhibitions around. Taylor Hall was drunk and loose, and it was always fun to pour shots down Stromer’s throat.

It wasn’t until later that Tyler noticed just how drunk he was, and drunk and incapable of moving was not how he wanted to finish the night. He knew if he played his cards right he could end up in Patrice’s bed back at the hotel, rather than in the twin room with him and Brad squashed in one bed and Tuukka on the other. He just had to sober up first.

So Tyler took himself off to lean against the side of the barn door and get away from the crowd for a bit. Inside the bride and groom were dancing to Rick Astley’s _Never Gonna Give You Up_. Tyler wasn’t sure how he even knew that song. His Mom? He’d probably heard it on the long car rides, jammed in one of the back footrests on the way to Boston to visit family (his sisters had always wanted to spread out on the bench seat).

Tyler let his head tip back against the wood door and took in a deep breath of night air.

A body angled alongside him to seek a place to lean as well. Tyler glanced up and saw…someone, from Dallas. He only recognised him because the guy was at a recent meeting with Dallas’s head Morrow, and Tyler - nursing a hangover - had had nothing else to do but stare at the men opposite him at the table.

J-…something. But Tyler’s famously encyclopaedic memory was failing him with the alcohol.

“I think there’s going to be trouble,” the guy said, nodding his head to the group in front of them.

The Gonchar wedding had come at an awkward stand-off between two old friends Evgeni Malkin and Alexander Ovechkin. No-one knew why, just that it was nasty and had been dragging on for months. And now both Russians had their ties askew and were standing toe to toe.

“Oh fuck,” Tyler crooned, because he liked a bit of drama.

Sidney Crosby burst out of the slowly gathering onlookers and stood in between the pair, his back firmly to Ovechkin. He tried to give his husband a push backward but Malkin hardly moved an inch. Nicklas Bäckström arrived too, seething. He yanked at Alex’s right arm to try to turn him around, but Ovechkin was singular in his focus.

Tyler heard Sid’s strangled voice say, “Geno, stop.” There weren’t many things Geno wouldn’t do if Sid asked him, but tonight was the exception. On the other side Alex tried to peel an insistent Nicke off him and the Swede wasn’t having any of it. He hissed something at Ovechkin a little too loud, and no doubt uncomplimentary about Malkin, and suddenly other guys from Pittsburgh were shouting back at him.

“I swear to god, say that again, I’ll take your fucking teeth out Nicke,” Matt Cooke yelled.

“Why don’t you shut up, Cookie?” a Washington guy hollered back.

Geno said something, right up in Ovechkin’s face, and that was it. Ovi swung a fist and smacked Malkin square in the jaw. Either Geno was quick to recover or he’d been expecting the punch, because without pause he launched himself bodily at his old friend. Sid was caught in the middle of them. Cooke and Letang entered the fray and that was it, a full on brawl had started between Washington and Pittsburgh.

“Gonchar had to know this was going to happen,” said the guy next to Tyler. 

“Maybe he wanted it to.”

“What do you mean?”

_I’m So Excited _by The Pointer Sisters floated in the night air as Evgeny Kutzentsov was spat out of the maul and Pascal Dupuis’ gleaming dress shoe attempted to stamp on his head.

“Ovi and Geno haven’t been speaking since, what, Christmas? From what I hear the only way they can solve an argument is to beat the shit out of each other, and then all is forgiven. Gonchar probably knew if they had to be with each other all day and drink some alcohol they’d be fighting before the end of the night. Problem solved.”

He felt the guy’s eyes on him. They were big and bright in the soft lighting, and looking at him shrewdly. Tyler gave him a smile. “Just a theory.”

And suddenly out of the barn door came Sergei Gonchar. Some New York guys who’d been watching the fight lurched out of his path as fast as they could, not laughing anymore.

It took a moment for the mob to notice Gonchar coming their way, but the effect was instant. They let go of jackets, unclenched their fists, and took a big step back. The group parted each to their own side to lick their wounds. They all kept their heads down and their mouths shut in the shadow of Sergei’s silent rage. The vicious knot in the middle of the group was all that was left by the time Gonchar got down there. Geno and Ovi were still scrapping, spitting at each other in their native tongue as they tried to find the space to throw a punch. And Sid and Nicke were still in the thick of it, trying to stop them. Both had each taken some hits, probably from one another. But even they moved back when they noticed Sergei, a deference so strong it was like a muscle reflex.

Gonchar said something to the two fighting and they both dropped their hands and staggered apart. Alex’s already wild hair stood on end and Geno’s smart suit was splattered with blood. Gonchar spoke to them low enough that the words were lost in the party buzz.

He finished whatever it was he had to say and there was a long pause. Eventually Geno said something to Ovechkin as he pushed his own mop of black hair off his face. Ovi shrugged. Tyler wished his Russian and his hearing was better, but he was sure he caught something contrite between them. 

Once the pair stopped mumbling at one another Gonchar held out his arms and beamed. He shouted something triumphant and slapped both guys heartily on the chest. Tyler saw Ovi give a sort of half-smile, not looking at Gonch or Geno.

Sergei made a demand for something and Kutznetsov rushed off to the open bar. He came back with three shots of what looked like straight vodka. The three of them toasted something, the guys’ chests still heaving from their fight, and knocked back their shots. Tyler watched Sid’s face turn from mutinous to measured impatience before he turned on his heel and left. Nicke had gone back to scowling, with blood running down his face that he chose to ignore. Ovechkin and Geno gripped each other’s arms and said something sincerely to one another.

The two groups began to dissipate, either back to the bar or their previous conversations. Tyler turned to the guy next to him and grinned triumphantly.

“Told you.”

The guy was smiling out of the corner of his mouth. “Well. You know your Russians.”

“Hey Jamie!” Someone Tyler didn’t recognise holding a bottle of beer at the bar hollered towards them. 

“Come on! You owe me!”

The guy - Jamie - peeled himself off the barn door, his smile gone.

“He knows it’s a free bar, right?” Tyler asked.

“It’s not money I owe him. Apparently I owe him one night of me getting wasted.”

“Doesn’t sound like a hardship.”

Jamie sighed like it was a fucking hardship, thanks very much, and left Tyler to it.

Tyler gave himself one minute more to suck in some quiet air, then went back to the Boston group. He looked in at the entrance to the barn as he passed, and the family, friends and newlyweds were dancing happily. He was sure none of them had paid much notice to the fight. Not their business.

* * *

Tyler let Val in on his fourth day in Dallas knowing that this was his summons. He wished he was less exhausted, but he was having trouble adjusting to this goddamn sun and all the streetlights glaring in through his window all night. He’d taken to sleeping under his bed in the end, the only place that was dark enough. Marshall crawled in with him, and Tyler just about survived the night with his dog panting and farting in an enclosed space with him.

The pair found themselves blinking blearily at Val in the front doorway, neither having slept all that well.

“Huh?” Tyler grunted, one hand shielding his eyes.

“Boss wants to see you.”

Tyler nodded. “Give me a minute.”

He splashed his face with cold water and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t smell of an airplane or the hospital. He went back down to the kitchen and found Val helping himself to his coffee and stroking his dog’s head.

“You know your way around.”

“Goligoski used to live here.”

“Who?”

Val offered him a small smile and a cup of coffee. “Doesn’t matter.”

No. It didn’t. Tyler was here now and he had a job to do. He waited until Val was busy petting Marshall again before swallowing two painkillers and a beta blocker in quick succession. He knocked back the last of his coffee and slid the mug into the sink.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Tyler didn’t like being driven around, but until the promised lease car arrived he had to stick to being a passenger. They rolled into Jamie’s driveway six minutes after they’d left Tyler’s place.

Jamie’s house was nothing like Patrice’s. Nothing was like Boston, Tyler reminded himself, the words now like a mantra he found himself repeating hour on hour. He slid out of the car and peered through the morning sun at the house of his new boss. The building was low slung and in a style similar to Tyler’s own, with an immaculate paved driveway spooling up from the gate to the front door. A line of high trees rose over the top of the house rustling gently in a welcoming afternoon breeze. 

Jordie Benn emerged from the door as the gate rumbled shut behind them, barefoot and with a I ❤️ VICTORIA coffee mug in hand.

“There he is,” Jordie said, with a grin as large as his beard. “Looking worse for wear. Fuck, what were you up to last night?”

Tyler scaled the stone stairs to the door and shook Jordie’s hand. “Whisky and travel sickness. How about you?”

“Whisky and self loathing. Come on in.”

Jordie was tall and broad in just the way Tyler found comforting. He had a twinkle in his eye that said his physicality wasn’t the only thing about him. Tyler had never spoken to Jordie before, but he found it easy to return his smile.

Tyler followed Jordie into the hallway of the Benn house and tried to ignore the drop his stomach made as they crossed the threshold.

It was relatively narrow in the entranceway, with a looping staircase up the side of one wall disappearing into a discreet balconied area. It was the exact opposite of Patrice’s grand stairway. Patrice liked to see his guests, get them to stand in a yawning space with a bright light on them and make them feel very small. This entrance was filled with soft filtered light, and shuttered, and Tyler felt folded in immediately. Someone was talking in a language that Tyler didn’t understand in the upstairs balcony area, but retreated when they heard voices.

“Jamie’s in the kitchen,” Jordie said. He slapped a hand down on Tyler’s shoulder and he felt the screech of wounds deep in his muscles. He led Tyler through to the back of the house and the wide, sunlit kitchen. It felt even homier in here, a sense of deep domesticity that said this room was where the people in the house spent the majority of their day. 

And sat at the kitchen island was Jamie Benn. He looked slouchy and half asleep. He was dressed in a Vancouver Canucks t-shirt from the 90s and grey sweats. He had an identical mug to Jordie’s in his hand and his phone in the other.

Jamie Benn had grown up as leader in Dallas. His hair was shorter now, he had a more sophisticated beard/moustache combination going on, and his infamous puppy fat had been replaced by muscle. He hadn’t been anyone’s first guess when Morrow had had to take early retirement. Many doubted he had the stones to do what needed to be done in Dallas. Those who did hadn’t been paying attention. 

This was Tyler’s first view of Jamie Benn as his new boss. He should have looked softer here, but there was a blankness in him that Jamie knew how to wield, and Tyler felt it directed at him across the room. In an instant he decided to ignore it.

“Morning,” said Tyler, throwing his house keys onto the kitchen island. Jamie looked up from his phone, at the keys, and finally up at Tyler. Tyler flashed him a grin.

“Tyler Seguin,” Jamie said, slowly, in that flutey voice that even years ago Tyler had found oddly charming in a sea of blunt, hard-edged talk.

“You had breakfast?” Jamie gestured with the coffee mug towards a stack of pastries standing on the edge of the counter. Tyler took one and got most of it in his mouth in one go.

“Whaddya need?” Tyler asked, mouth full of croissant.

He’d never really had a ‘proper’ job before. Never worked in a cafe, or an office, and had had a paper round as a kid for all of one week. But he’d known and worked for men like Jamie his whole life, and he knew that the quickest amount of time you could take from arriving to doing something beneficial for them, the better. Learning curves were steep. You found out everything vital if you were lucky and essential if you were observant. And the sooner he could make himself indispensable, the easier life would be.

“You know Khudobin?”

“Dobby? A little.”

Khudobin had arrived in the country like most Russians: clutching a false passport and a list of connections to fellow countrymen in the North American mob. He’d been shuttled around the country for a while not making any particular affiliation, and done odd jobs for anyone that would have him. Tyler hadn’t heard from him in a while but they’d done some grunt work on a drugs deal some years back in Boston.

“He’s a driver here now,” Jamie said, reading Tyler’s mind. “And I’ve asked him to take you down to one of our bars in the city. Get a feel for it.”

Tyler shoved the remainder of the pastry in his mouth and picked up another.

“Jesus, how do you look like that when you eat like that?” asked Jordie. 

“I’ve always assumed it’s good genes.”

Jordie looked at his brother long enough that Jamie felt the stare and glanced up from his phone. Tyler pretended not to notice the silent but clear conversation that went on between the two of them.

“How about I show you around Casa del Jamie?” Jordie suggested pleasantly, after the younger Benn broke the spell by going back to his phone. Jamie’s expression had gone from blank to sour.

“Sure. Thanks, Big Benn.”

“Yeah, don’t call me that.”

The house wasn’t as large as Tyler had suspected, but the land behind it sprawled in all directions. A decent sized pool and a rash of trees broke up the flat expanse, and to the right and left the grass ran down slopes to further corners. Jordie waved a hand and welcomed Tyler to explore it himself in his own time.

Jordie said a lot by not saying much. He showed him Jamie’s office, the living area, where the good liquor was kept, the mini putting green.

He introduced Tyler to anyone they came across. Some people Tyler already knew, and Tyler added the ones he didn’t to his mental rolodex. Most people ran out of room for keeping such intricate records, but Tyler was inherently good at this. He didn’t struggle to remember a face or a name, someone’s background or their biggest weakness. It was rather like his ability to eat pastries and never put on any weight - it was just something he could do without much effort.

“How are you adapting to Dallas?”

Jordie had tailed off the tour in the kitchen claiming he needed more coffee. Jamie wasn’t there anymore. Jordie and Tyler sat with fresh mugs on a terraced eating area off the back of the kitchen, both squinting in the bright light.

“The weather is messing me up. I can’t sleep and there’s no curtains in the house.”

“You need a good set of blackout blinds. I can send a guy over.”

“Sure, thanks.”

“What about your dog, he liking it?”

“I don’t know, Marshall’s not really used to change. He’s lived in Boston the whole time I’ve had him. I think he misses burying things in Bergy’s back garden.”

“You should bring him over here. Couple of guard dogs hanging around are friendly, and my dog Juice lives here. Don’t know where he is right now, probably with Jamie in his office gassing him out.”

“He’s always up for a playdate. I’ll bring him round next time.”

Tyler looked across at Jordie. His eyes had an open, friendly quality to them. When he smiled it was genuine. But the beard and something else shuttered his face off slightly, like he only revealed what he wanted.

“What’s it like working with your brother?”

“I don’t work with Jamie. I work for him.”

“A lot of guys would resent that.”

Jordie shook his head. “Not me. Jamie’s good at what he does and I’m good at what I do. We’re not in competition.”

From what Tyler had seen so far that wasn’t just bluster. He was impressed.

“He’s got a lot going on at the moment,” Jordie then said out of the blue.

“Well that’s why I’m here, right?”

“Just don’t expect him to want to let some stuff go. He’s not good at delegating. That’s always been part of my job, ‘cos if I didn’t he would do everything himself and he’d be dead before his time.”

Tyler didn’t feel like he was being asked to comment, so he let the silence stretch on.

“Jamie needs you, but he isn’t going to ask for it. Just…be prepared for that.”

“I spend my life doing things no-one wants me to do and hating me for it. I’m pretty used to it by now.”

“You’ve clearly never seen Jamie’s ‘you’ve let me down’ face. I’m about as immune to it as a person can get, and it still hits me right here.” He pretended to stab himself in the heart with an invisible knife, with all the drama of a guy who’d given this speech before. Tyler laughed along. It was the first time he’d laughed since Pevs had left. 


	3. Chapter 3

BOSTON

Tyler woke up in his apartment in the city for the first time in weeks. He felt the damp chill in the air, heard the thump of his neighbours in the units around him, and he groaned long and loud. He hated waking up in his own apartment.

Marshall was in bed with him, which explained the warm press against the small of his back. Tyler grumbled to himself and threw an arm back to stroke Marshall’s head.

“Morning buddy.”

Marshall snuffled happily against his coccyx.

“You want some breakfast?”

It turned out that Tyler had no food in his cupboards except for Marshall’s. He shuffled the right amount into a bowl and watched his lab scoff the whole thing in delight. When Marshall was suitably filled he grabbed his leash and the pair headed out, Tyler in search of some breakfast and Marshall a quiet place to do his business.

Once Marshall had fulfilled his needs Tyler took them to Flannigans, a faux-Irish café that did pastries the size of Tyler’s head. If he ate the whole thing and slurped down the strongest coffee then he wouldn’t need any food until he inevitably wandered into Patrice’s house sometime that afternoon and he could beg someone to make him a proper meal.

Tyler bought his pastry and his coffee and settled outside on the terrace where Marshall could stick his nose in other patrons’ laps and drink out of a water bowl. It was on the cold side for outdoor eating, but the patio was relatively busy with smokers and those shunned by the rush inside. Eventually Tyler wound Marshall back in and made him lie down between his legs.

He was ripping a chunk of pastry off with his teeth when he spotted Jordin Tootoo turn onto the street on the opposite side of the road.

Jordin Tootoo was supposed to be at home, in New Jersey. Tyler knew that because there was no reason for a New Jersey man to wander into Boston territory unannounced. He had no family or friends here, or at least none he should be risking a visit for. The guy looked steely eyed but nervous as he crossed the road and headed towards Flannigans. Tyler turned his face away as Tootoo passed and buried his nose in his takeaway mug.

Tootoo was too anxious to have noticed his cover was blown. Tyler saw the damp imprint his hand left on the door handle as he pushed his way inside - the guy was clammy despite the cold. Tyler slammed down his mug and turned around to look through the windows, banking on the steam masking him if Tootoo turned to the window. Tootoo joined the back of the ordering queue. His head did a quick swivel as he checked out the customers inside.

Tyler pulled out his phone and dialled the house.

“Yeah?”

“I need to talk to Patrice.”

He waited 45 seconds for the call to come back from Patrice’s burner phone, but it was Brad’s voice when he picked up.

“It’s me. Bergy’s talking to Washington.”

“There’s a Devil in town.”

In the cafe Tootoo was peering at the board over the counter. He gave his order to the barista and shuffled down the queue.

“Which one?”

“Tootoo. He looks nervous.”

“No shit. He’s not supposed to be here. Where are you?”

“Flannigan’s cafe, opposite that Double Time bar. He’s ordering coffees for 5.”

He watched as the woman behind the counter helped Jordin load his coffees into a cardboard carrier and handed over his change. Tyler turned away from the window and went back to looking at the bottom of his mug.

“He’s not got any friends or family here right?”

“No,” Tyler managed to say before the door opened up. Tootoo walked right past him, too busy checking the street ahead. Tyler waited for him to cross the road before speaking again.

“He’s on the move. I’m going to see where he’s going.”

“Don’t get noticed.”

Tyler hung up, shoved his pastry into his jacket pocket and urged Marshall up off the floor.

“Come on boy, we’re going for a walk.”

Tootoo looked over his shoulder a few times. Tyler stayed across the street and far back, head down and Marshall padding along confidently on the Boston pavements he knew so well. He blended right into the crowd.

Tootoo was heading towards Boston Common. Tyler wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep up with him so easily in the park, but he crossed the street just before the park gates. Tyler moved in the opposite direction and found himself by an entrance gate to Boston Common, hidden by the milling tourists and a battalion of buggies wielded by a mom and toddler group. Across the road Tootoo was scaling a long, bland street of businesses. He pushed open the door to a building with pulled down shutters and ‘for sale’ sign in the window, sandwiched between a bridal wear store and a DVD rental place. It had started to rain, but this was too good a position to lose, so Tyler huddled up inside his coat and waited. Marshall sat on Tyler’s feet panting, unperturbed by the drizzle.

There were a few reasons why a New Jersey Devil could be in town. One, to visit friends or family. Which was fine, all of these Families had an agreement, but you had to ask permission first. Two, to take up some hare-brained scheme with a Boston guy to make a bit of money on the side. Three, as part of a New Jersey Family-organised move to do damage to Boston.

Tyler watched, and waited. His feet were numb by the time he saw five men leave the building, Tootoo amongst them. He was still the only one Tyler recognised, but the way the guys interacted with one another he was happy to guess they were all New Jersey men. One still had his coffee cup in his hand which he used to gesticulate wildly. They were all in deep conversation, and none of them looked happy. A sixth man stepped out behind them, waving his arms about. Tyler knew that guy, and he knew he shouldn’t be talking to New Jersey. He could hear him shouting across the street, though not the exact words. There was a moment where he thought there might be a fight, the sixth guy so incensed that his face was beet red. Two cars pulled up and the New Jersey men folded themselves inside, leaving the angry man to shout at nothing.

Tyler turned on his heel and called the house back.

“They were talking to our bookie. Those fuckers are trying to get in on our gambling racket.”

* * *

Patrice caught Tyler stealing food out of the fridge later that afternoon.

“Do you not have food at your place?”

“I have for Marshall.”

“Ah, so the essentials then.”

Tyler swung the fridge door shut and folded another piece of cold pizza into his mouth. It was frankly obscene, but Patrice knew he was smiling all too fondly.

“I’ve decided I need to have a few words with Zach Parise,” Patrice said as Tyler swallowed.

“You want me to organise a meeting?”

“No. Not exactly.”

Tyler grinned. “Can I come?”

“Of course. Grab some of the other guys. Kruig’s driving and we leave in an hour.”

Patrice would certainly be having words with Parise that evening, but the small mob he planned to bring with him just wanted to break stuff.

Tyler got word later that day that the Devils would be catching up on business at a cafe-bar they laundered money out of on the outskirts of New Jersey. They couldn’t have chosen a more perfect venue for Boston to pay them a surprise visit. It made it unlikely they’d be armed, and certainly not ready for an ambush. There’d also be less chance the rest of the New Jersey Family would converge quick enough to catch Boston in the act.

Tyler hauled the baseball bat out from the footwell and Ference cracked his big knuckles. 

“OK boys,” Brad said, rolling up his sleeps with delight. “Let’s go make trouble.”

They vacated the car as one: Tyler, Andréw, Brad, and McQuaid, Horty and Peverley out of the second car. Kruig stayed at his wheel and Bergy remained in the passenger seat.

Ference pulled open the door for them and a comically petite bell chimed as they crossed the entranceway.

The cafe-bar was small. A raised seating area ran around the outside of the bar area, offering narrow stools and smaller tables for people to take a drink or grab a snack. It was empty of patrons now. In the cafe area the tables were covered with New Jersey’s men. They were drinking, smoking, telling stories, any business talk having either been completed or hours away from starting.

And in the middle of it all Taylor Hall was lounging with his legs sprawled wide, slid down in his seat like he was sunbathing at the shore.

What the hell was Taylor Hall doing in New Jersey?

Tyler didn’t have time to ask the question because Brad picked up one of the stools from the upper level and hurled it towards the crowd of men. The scramble to avoid it broke the spell.

Andréw spotted the lone Devil with a firearm and had his own gun on him before he could react.

“Sit down, kid, this one’s not for you.” The guy dropped his gun like it was on fire.

Tyler swung his bat and let it go. The bar exploded from front to back in a spray of glass and liquor as the bat arced and spun. He retrieved it from amongst the glass and swung it again - this time into a New Jersey man’s kneecaps. He went down with a howl.

Tyler turned to see Brad thump someone with his fist and the pair of them go down in a tangle of punches and grabbing hands. Ference was wrestling with a guy with no neck and missing teeth, and seemed to be holding his own. McQuaid was smashing a coffee pot over the head of an unfortunate who tried to take him out with a knife. And then through the door came Patrice. He didn’t break his stride once, didn’t need to. His boys had cleared the path for him, which meant his eyes were on Parise from the second he crossed the threshold.

Tyler took a fist to the face from some scrawny foot soldier. He spat out blood as he broke the guy’s nose. He was dragging the Devil across the floor with one hand in his hair and one in his shirt when he saw the moment Zach Parise realised Patrice was there for him.

Parise scrambled backwards against an upturned table but there was nowhere to go, and the shock of seeing the Boston Captain had sent him into a kind of dumb stupor. Bergeron grabbed a handful of Parise’s shirt and hauled him onto one of the few remaining standing tables. Zach sprawled on its surface helplessly, frozen, as Patrice leant in very, very close to his ear.

Brad shoved a Devil above Tyler off him and helped him to his feet. He borrowed Tyler’s bat and disappeared back into the melee, but Tyler turned his attentions elsewhere. He hadn’t missed Taylor Hall’s attempt to escape.

He caught his old friend trying to get out of an old service door in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” he snarled at the sight of Tyler. He dropped the lock he’d been trying to wrestle open and let his back thunk against the door. “What the hell are you all doing here?”

“New Jersey has been overreaching.” Tyler wiped blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand. “More importantly, what are you doing here Taylor?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Well Edmonton doesn’t do any business with New Jersey, and no-one’s heard from you guys in months. Everything’s gone to shit up there hasn’t it?”

“None. Of. Your. Business,” said Taylor slowly, his eyes lit up with a resolve that had replaced the panic. Tyler shook his head.

“Taylor, if you wanted a new job you could have asked me.” He might have even gotten him one in Boston if he’d asked. He and Taylor were friends. Sort of. They’d had a similar trajectory in their lives and there was a healthy amount of competition between them. But Hall had settled into a place in Edmonton, and it was rare that guys who went there found their way back. Tyler hadn’t seen Taylor in a long while.

“Not all of us want to be lapdogs to American families,” Taylor spat.

“Oh really, then why were you out there panting like a dog in heat for Parise?”

“Shut the hell up Tyler.”

Tyler knew it was unwise to push Taylor too far. Kids their age usually made it this far in the game by one of two ways: their brawn, or their brains. And Hall wasn’t known for his sharp thinking.

Taylor spread his arms out. “So go on then. What are you going to do with me?”

Tyler made a little gun with his finger and thumb and fired it in Taylor’s direction. “We came here to beat up Devils. Nothing against a guy far, far away from home. Say hello to Connor for me.”

Tyler turned on his heel and headed back into the bar area. He arrived just in time to see the other guys clearing out. New Jersey were rallying and reinforcements would be arriving imminently. They needed to already be on the road when they pulled up. The Boston crew piled back into the cars and Kruig hit the gas, leaving a stunned New Jersey their wake.

Tyler arranged himself more comfortably between Ference and Brad once they got on the highway.

“You speak to Taylor?” Patrice asked without turning in his seat.

“Yeah.”

“So Edmonton’s fucked then?”

“Must be.”

“They can’t know he’s down here, right?”

“I doubt it. I’ve been expecting any minute to hear that there had been a coup. Maybe Horcoff is hanging on.”

“He mention McDavid?”

Tyler blinked. He wasn’t aware that anyone south of the border was aware of what was happening with Connor.

“No. He didn’t.”

They stopped off in New York on the way home so that Patrice could talk business with Lundqvist and warn him that New Jersey were looking for gambling rackets to infiltrate.

Tyler slept in the car with Brad whilst the others found coffee and something to eat. Tyler couldn’t eat on a job, his stomach always a knot until he could safely say it was over, but after all these years he was able to sleep on command.

He woke up to Brad digging his arm in his side.

“Huh? What?”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Tyler hauled himself upright. His mouth tasted like shit and he knew his hair was a mess.

“I say anything interesting?”

“When do you ever say anything interesting?”

Brad stretched his legs, the heel of his shoe right in Tyler’s face.

“Get your gross shoes the hell away from me.”

“You staying at Patrice’s tonight?” asked Brad out of the blue.

“Uh, yeah. I think so. Why?”

“Just thinking. You were missed last night. Not like you to actually sleep at your place.”

“I need to justify paying my rent somehow.”

“You don’t pay the rent, Patrice does. And I know he only does it so that you’ve got somewhere out of his eye line to hook up.”

Tyler didn’t want to get onto that topic of conversation. Not today, not with Brad, and not in Patrice’s car.

“Those guys better bring us back a coffee.”

Brad folded his arms across his chest and settled himself against the car door so that he was facing Tyler, his body crammed across the seats alongside his.

“What, Marchy?”

“What’s going on with Patrice at the moment?”

“What do you mean?”

“He looks like he wants to kill. Is it something to do with Florida?”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s worrying about them a lot. I keep telling him not to, but he doesn’t listen.”

“You didn’t give him any information he _should_ be worrying about?”

“Look, it’s Florida. Those two families can’t even breathe the same air without pulling a gun on each other. And it’s causing them problems, so they need our help. They’ve got to play nicely with us, turn up to the talks, sign the agreements, all that shit, or they’ll think the other Family is going to ruin them.”

“Then why does Patrice look like someone kicked his puppy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not his therapist.”

“You’re as close as he’s going to get to one.”

Tyler closed his eyes again. “I’m going back to sleep.”

The car door opened with a snap behind him and Tyler nearly tumbled backward out the car.

“Jesus, Ference!”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Oh stop bitching, we brought you both a coffee.”

Tyler was glad for the distraction the guys created from Brad’s line of questioning. Because truth be told, he didn’t know what was wrong with Patrice. And there were only so many times he could trot out the same old tired lines: Florida is fine. They’ve got to fall in line. They’ll behave. Don’t worry.

All Tyler did was worry. And given Patrice’s current mood, it was looking more and more like Patrice couldn’t stop worrying either.


	4. Chapter 4

DALLAS

Tyler and Dobby had more things in common than Tyler had initially thought. They knew a lot of the same people in Boston and a handful of Russians scattered across the Families also turned out to be mutual friends. He was a fun guy, with a dry sense of humour mixed in with the outlandishness Tyler had seen in other Russians he knew. It was fun to spend time with him even if Tyler knew he was being watched. 

Dobby showed him the bar Jamie had mentioned in the city. He took him to a few other places as well. Warehouses, stores, the neighbourhoods they ran and ones the Family’s associates ran for them. It helped to build a picture, but Tyler was desperate to get out there and do the job himself.

No instructions came from Jamie. So he listened, and he learnt, and he asked Dobby to drive him where he wanted to go.

One week after landing he answered the door to a guy he hadn’t met before.

Maybe it was all the hockey he’d watched growing up, but he sort of had a thing for men with missing teeth.

“Tyler Seguin?”

“Yeah.”

“Alexander Radulov. Good to finally have you here.” His consonants had the syrupy resonance of a Russian who’d been speaking English for a long time.

“Good to be here.”

“How you finding Dallas?”

“Too hot. How long you been here?”

“Year or so. I was in Canada before, so Dallas is definitely too hot for me.”

Tyler carefully looked Radulov up and down. He was a knot of pure muscle, not particularly broad or imposing but strong, no doubt hard to knock down in a fight. Tyler had heard that he could be a prickly character, but whatever barbs he had he’d flattened them in Tyler’s presence. He had a scruff of a beard and hair he styled by running one large hand through it. He watched Tyler inspect him from top to toe. His expression suddenly turned sharky.

What the hell. Tyler was bored and lonely in this big house, and Radulov seemed uncomplicated. He liked uncomplicated.

They were woken up out of their doze later by Radulov’s phone ringing. He answered in Russian. The talk turned to shouting in about 30 seconds, and then Alex shut the phone off and threw it onto the bed.

“Fucking ex-wife. Never get married,” Radulov said, turning his face to Tyler across the pillows. “Not worth it.”

“No?”

Radulov shuffled in the bed. He’d pulled his shorts back on before they’d nodded off, but he was shirtless. His sides were a web of tattoos scratched into skin. Russian letters, symbols Tyler didn’t understand, some pristine against the darker tone of his skin whilst others were older, sloppily done, and lost in rough hair.

“Only good I got out of it was my son. Which is best thing in the world, of course. But she won’t let me see him. I tell her come down here, it’s safer. You never know, you know? She says no, she likes it. She’s in Montreal now, got a new fiancé. It’s like we never happened. Bastard is trying to be my boy’s father.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “She’s not _careful_ with our son. I worry she not understand the danger.”

Tyler nodded. He didn’t have any kids but he worried enough about his mother and his sisters. It was why he maintained such good relationships with Toronto - their friendship kept his family in Ontario safe. But he couldn’t imagine having a child not in his protection and vulnerable to the whims of his enemies.

“You left your old Family ok?”

“Yeah. I mean, not perfect, but I can show my face. I was there for couple of years, still got some friends there. But you never know, right?”

No. They never knew. This was what made this job chip away at your sanity. The ever present feeling that you were just waiting until your luck ran out. Radulov picked up his phone again and stared at the screen.

“She won’t let me visit because she says it’s more dangerous that way. He’s forgetting me.”

He turned the screen to Tyler and showed a picture of a blonde boy, mischievous and with a gap toothed smile not unlike his dad.

“He’s cute. Take after his Mom, then?”

Radulov smirked. “Fuck you.”

Alex rolled himself out of Tyler’s bed and pulled his pants back on.

“I have to go, Jamie wanted me to just introduce myself.”

What an introduction. Tyler stretched languidly in his bed, revelling in the little aches at the end of his muscles, the popping of his joints. He felt better than he had for a few days, and it was more than just a shared orgasm. Certain little things needed to happen for him for the first time in Dallas before it started to feel like home. He briefly thought of Patrice and an uncomfortable sting hit him in the chest. He pushed it aside with a deep breath and watched as Radulov yanked his shirt over his head.

“Tell Jamie I say hi.”

“You not spend much time with the Captain yet,” Radulov said, more of a statement than a question.

“I don’t think he wants me around.”

“Jordie not give you the talk yet? Jamie is just like that. You’ve got to…force it, sometimes.”

Tyler didn’t want to force it. He didn’t even want to be in Dallas.

“Come on, come over. You guys can talk work and Jordie can make us steaks. I’ve got good vodka there too, vodka you Canadians won’t ever appreciate.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll come.”

“Good. Bring Marshall.”

Tyler lay there for a little while longer listening to Radulov help himself to water in Tyler’s kitchen. He was right, Tyler had to get busy soon. Even if it meant frisking Jamie for work.

* * *

Radulov announced that they needed steaks the minute they entered the house. Jordie put up a good show of protesting.

“I’m not your chef!”

“You cook them best, and I know you got some Rattle Farm topside steaks yesterday. Come on, Jordie, show the new boy your skills.”

Jordie pretended to argue for a while then zipped off eagerly to take the steaks out of the fridge. The talk of steaks brought the other guys out of the woodwork: the tall, ghostly pale Swede John Klingberg and his keen-eyed compatriot Mattias Janmark came hustling out of the living room; the quiet Stephen Johns with the lopsided grin appeared from nowhere, and Khudobin and one of the Family’s body men of few words, Radek Faksa, seemingly heard all the way out by the cars. Tyler waited for the flurry of arrivals to stop then sloped in the other direction towards the back of the house.

He rapped on the door but didn’t wait to be summoned in. Juice jumped up at the sight of Marshall, who Tyler still had on the leash. Jamie watched quietly as Tyler told Marshall to behave and gave him enough slack to eagerly snuffle at Juice. They both waited for the dogs to sniff each other out, then Marshall playfully nudged Juice in the neck.

Tyler got Marshall untangled from his lead and let the door open for them, and off they went.

“Marshall?” asked Jamie, eyes back on his paperwork.

“Yeah. Thought he might need a buddy, what with the move.”

“Don’t let him get my security dogs soft,” Jamie said, but he sounded amused. Tyler sat down on the chair opposite Jamie’s desk and lifted his feet onto the top.

“Get them off.”

“What are you working on?”

“Get your feet off my desk and I’ll tell you.”

Tyler did as he was told with a grin.

“I’m working on the accounts.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve got Spezza for?”

“I’m still supposed to check them over.” Jamie placed his pen down and blew out a long breath. He kicked back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Even if I don’t understand a word of what they say.”

“How come you’re allowed your feet up?”

“It’s my desk. I don’t know where your shoes have been.”

“They’ve been nowhere. I’ve not been asked to do anything.”

Tyler lifted his shoes up onto the desk again and turned the soles to Jamie. “See. Clean as a whistle. I’ve walked from my house to Dobby’s car, from the car to your house. That’s it.”

They were both smiling, but Tyler felt it in the air, the crackle of a challenge.

“What else do you want to be doing?”

“Something. Anything.”

“Make yourself useful then. Or do I need to give you prompts? Did Patrice give you a to-do list every day?”

“I’d been working for Patrice for years. I don’t know you, and I don’t know Dallas.”

“Get to know us then.”

Tyler couldn’t help a little bit of tension leak through his voice. “How can I when my damn lease car hasn’t shown up? You’ve got Dobby driving me around like I’m the Queen of England.”

“And whilst he’s doing that, you can get to know Dallas.”

“He’s keeping an eye on me for you. I’m not stupid, you know.”

Jamie laughed. “I’m not calling you stupid.”

“No, but you’re treating me like it. Where’s my car?”

“Delayed delivery, that’s all.”

“So why can’t I drive one of your cars then? If you want me to get to know Dallas you’ve got to give me some freedom to do it my own way.”

Jamie gave a half shrug. He was smiling, curved and sly. He knew it was annoying Tyler, no doubt wanted to see where he was going. Tyler felt his pulse race a little.

“What? Don’t trust me out there, on my own?”

“It’s not about trust, Tyler.”

“Then what is it about?”

“You don’t know Dallas. You’ve got to learn. And I’d rather you learn with someone with you.”

They stared each other out for a moment longer. Tyler stood up and made a show of stretching. He didn’t miss the way Jamie’s eyes flashed to the exposed skin between the hem of his shirt and his jeans. 

“OK. Have it your way.”

* * *

Tyler had Dobby drive him to the Sacramento Bar in Deep Ellum. It wasn’t one of Dallas’s official bars, but it was a good, safe, place to get drunk on a weeknight. They ate chicken wings and watched a re-run of a Texas Rangers game on the bar TV. Dobby didn’t ask why Tyler was doing this, but he kept an eye and ear out on the bar around them.

Two guys entered the restaurant around the time Tyler and Dobby were deep into their second beer. The pair were quickly shown to a table in the half-empty dining area by the hostess. They were laughing and relaxed, not bothering to look at the other patrons too closely. Why would they? These guys were in a Dallas neighbourhood not knowingly frequented by the Dallas Family. On a weeknight, before 6pm, and four hours from a flight that would take them far away.

Dobby didn’t notice Tyler’s shift in behaviour, which gave Tyler some time. He waited for the waitress to come over to take Dobby’s order of more wings before standing up and saying something under his breath about the bathroom.

He crossed to the booth where the two men had been seated. The back of the booth was towards Khudobin, giving him the perfect opportunity to hide from being seen. Tyler made it to the banquette and was able to slide in before his babysitter turned his attention away from the waitress.

“Oh shit,” Jordan Subban said to his new dining guest.

“Hello boys,” Tyler said to the two men from Nashville. He picked up one of the menus and slapped it down in front of Ryan Johansen. “What are you having?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Johansen hissed under his breath. His skin was blotching red from the surprise.

“You didn’t get the memo? I work here now.”

Jordan blinked. “What, at this restaurant?”

“No you dumb-ass, for the Dallas Family.”

“Well how the fuck we were supposed to know that?”

“Use your ears guys, that might help.”

“How did you know we were going to be here? No-one from the Dallas Family comes here, that’s why _we _come here.”

Tyler just smiled.

“Fine. Whatever, you caught us. We come to this place for wings on a long layover ok, so what?”

“You’re on your way to Anaheim.”

“Jesus, how did you…”Johansen threw his hands up, then buried his face in them. “How did you know we are on the way to California?” he asked through his fingers, and gritted teeth.

“A little birdie told me.”

A birdie in the shape of Jordan Subban’s private twitter account, which Tyler followed with one of his burner profiles. It wasn’t a particularly clever way to keep tabs on the other Families, but sometimes - especially with the younger guys - it worked to have some fake accounts of his own following their movements on social media.

Johansen refused to look at Tyler as he spoke. “So, what? We’re on our way to California. What’s that got to do with you?”

“Because I heard on the grapevine you’re fancying Getzlaf for that gun trade everyone’s been creaming themselves over.”

Johansen settled for glaring across the table at Jordan as he spoke. He didn’t know why, but he felt like this whole situation was this guy’s fault.

“No. We’re not.”

“No? Then why are you going to Anaheim?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Because if you _are _going over there to give Anaheim the stash, I think you should reconsider and choose Dallas.”

The waitress appeared and took their order. It was clear she recognised Tyler from the other table, where Dobby was now starting to get antsy and crane his neck for a sight of his charge.

No-one looked up as they ordered and the young woman was clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere as she scooped up their menus and left quickly.

“So?”

“Like hell are we going to give you that trade.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, maybe because we’ve got guns we can sell to people who will actually _pay _for them? Not to rednecks who need to protect their homestead.”

“Don’t give me that shit. Whether we sell them here or in any other part of the country it doesn’t matter, we can launder them through here a lot faster and a lot cleaner than Getzlaf can. It’s Anaheim, man. Did you hear what happened to their last great gun venture?”

Johansen stayed quiet, glaring moodily at the tabletop between him and Tyler.

“They got caught, and Getzlaf had to sacrifice a few of his guys to the FBI to get out of it. Because people in California talk. And they’ve got more guns than they know what to do with, so they’re careless. They sell them to the wrong guys, who use them for the wrong thing, and before you know it their boss is throwing Nashville under the bus because he doesn’t have any more higher ups to hand over to the FBI. And he’ll put those guys ahead of your Family any goddamn day.

He wants the guns off you for pride, because since Kopitar’s stopped working with guns it’s been Anaheim, everybody takes their weapons for the west coast there now. His reputation will be hit if people decide not to. But Dallas is a new market. There’s no-one here who’s got a good run on weapons, except Jamie. Guns can _disappear _here. They’re not going to surface and drag Josi and Subban down with them.”

Johansen worked his jaw for a few moments. He and Jordan communicated silently over the table with eyes and eyebrows.

“So?”

“Fuck you Tyler, I’m not just going to drop a deal because you talk some shit about Getzlaf.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?”

The wings arrived. And slowly but surely, Tyler worked on them. He needled at their idea of what it was to trust Anaheim with their gun trade. He told them about deals gone bad, about how many of Anaheim’s customers ended up getting cocky and trying to run guns over the border. How they ended up dead. How Kopitar had given up the gun trade for that very reason and Getzlaf was pissed off that he was having to profit off something a bigger Family had dumped as useless. He wanted to succeed where Anze had failed. He didn’t care that Nashville physically gave him guns, he just cared - for his own reputation - that Nashville said yes to giving them. And that made Anaheim dangerous to the Nashville Family.

Dallas could save them all of that hassle.

By the end of it Johansen was looking at Tyler, and both men had let their wings go cold.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Jordan said, stabbing the ice in his coke with a straw. “But he’s right.”

“Shut up,” Johansen said, with no heat. He picked up his phone and tapped it against the tabletop.

“You are right, Seggy. But we made a deal. Josi made a deal with Getzlaf.”

“Then tell him it’s a _bad _deal. It is and you know it. I’ve given you what Dallas can offer. Let us do this round. If we mess it up, then you won’t give guns to Dallas again.”

Ryan sighed long and slow, then gestured to Jordan. “You can call your brother and explain this to him. There’s no way I’m telling to him.”

Jordan picked up his phone and disappeared. Just after he left, Dobby found Tyler.

“Tyler? Where have you been?”

“Just catching up with old friends. Give me a minute.”

Dobby gaped at him. When Tyler and Ryan ignored him he turned on his heel and went to settle up their bill.

Ryan laughed. “Let me guess. You haven’t even told anyone at Dallas about this, have you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well your babysitter looks like he’s going to throw up. And I doubt Jamie would let you be making deals for him this soon after you arrive.”

Jordan caught their attention across the restaurant. Thumbs up.

“Give me the time it takes for you to fly back to Nashville, and Jamie will know what he needs to know to sign off.”

“Fine,” Ryan sighed, defeated. He sent Jordan away to pay. He put his phone in his pocket and turned fully to Tyler.

“How you doing, anyway? You know, after…You doing ok?”

Tyler slid out of the seat and stood up, his back stinging as he moved.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Florida are bastards. Fucking bastards. Kucherov’s gone missing, did you hear that?”

Tyler took a step back, very much wanting to get out of this conversation. But Ryan wasn’t paying attention.

“No, I didn’t.”

“How? You hear _everything else_ it seems. Yeah, the nutcase has gone missing. Hasn’t turned up to any of his meetings in, like, a month. Josi thinks he’d gone to ground. I think he’s dead. Who the hell knows down there. I mean, he lost his hand all those years ago. He’s been on the verge of losing his mind for a lot longer.”

“It’s not my problem anymore.”

Ryan looked up, surprised. “Of course it is Tyler. It’s every Family’s problem. If they go fucking nuts again and decide to make another move, we’re all screwed.”

Tyler felt Dobby’s hand grip his arm.

“OK, we’re leaving now.”

“Bye Seggy,” Subban called after him as Dobby half dragged him across the restaurant. Tyler should have felt triumphant. Instead he just felt spacey, and sick.

Why did everything have to come back to Florida?

* * *

The day after Tyler’s deal with Nashville a car showed up in his driveway. He and Marshall circled it in the late morning sunshine and gave it a prod and a sniff. The engine was off, there was no driver, and it gleamed in the morning Texas sunlight like it had just come off the showroom floor. 

Tyler called Jamie’s cell.

“I’m assuming the car on my driveway is the one you promised me. And not an elaborate way to blow my house up.”

“It’s yours. Registration and paperwork is in the glove compartment. The key is on the front right wheel. There’s a gun rack under the driver’s seat. Enjoy, Tyler. You did good.”

Tyler tried unsuccessfully to suppress the little shiver that went through him. He let out a long, heavy sigh and watched as Marshall cocked his leg and peed on one of the rear wheels.


	5. Chapter 5

BOSTON 

Tyler squeezed his knee down onto Brad’s. They were too hot under the covers but the radiator in Brad’s second floor bedroom was defunct until a plumber could be called, so it was a necessity. It didn’t really explain why they were half naked under there. Just Tuesday night shenanigans. Brad swallowed a yelp and gave Tyler a push. They’d been doing that for a while. Half-heartened shoving matches and wrestling whilst talking, talking, talking. It happened less and less these days, this special time in private to go through every little thing in their heads, but they still found the time when they could. Neither could remember when the wrestling started.

Brad dug his fingers into the flesh of Tyler’s side. They were talking nonsense about their school days. Silly, unimportant stuff. In the line of work they were both in, the unimportant things were crucial.

“Fuck you. I was a good kid in school.”

“Find that hard to believe Seggy.”

Tyler crushed Brad’s fingers with his body and used his advantage to get a foot against the smaller man’s thigh. He gave him a kick, toes needling into his muscles.

Brad winced and lashed out without any heat. “Well I was a good boy.”

“You've told me you got thrown out again and again.”

“Would _your_ teachers say that you were good?”

“I didn’t go to school past the age of twelve, they wouldn’t remember me even if I showed them video footage.”

Brad snatched Tyler’s hand and twisted his wrist. “So that explains that massive brain of yours.”

“Hey, I was alright at school. Well not, like, English and stuff. I did ok at math. And history. I was hot shit at history. I remembered all the dates.”

Brad levered down on Tyler’s wrist and the younger man hissed through his teeth. He managed to get a hand up and pinch Brad’s side.

“And I was good at sports.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I played junior hockey.”

Brad lifted his elbow up and pressed it under Tyler’s chin. “_Every_ Canadian kid played junior hockey.”

“I could have gone into the next league,” Tyler said, slightly strangled from Brad’s elbow. “But that was the year Dad died. Hockey was too expensive.”

Brad pulled back slightly, and Tyler levelled an acidic glare across the pillows at him. Tyler hated pity.

“Whatever. What was I going to do? Be a professional, play in the NHL?”

“Why not?”

“Right. Bust my ass for years, move around to play in all the right teams, cost my Mom a fortune. For a slim chance that some feeder team will see me and I’ll end up in the NHL?”

“It happens.”

“Well it wasn’t going to happen for a kid from Brampton.” He didn’t sound sad, or resentful. Just a fact. He knocked Brad’s elbow away and dug a knee into his gut. Brad coughed as he laughed, Tyler’s knobbly kneecap in his sternum.

“I can see it now, Tyler Seguin going into the draft.”

Tyler grinned.

“Where’d you put me?”

“Hmm. You could play for the Bruins.”

“Fuck the Bruins,” said Tyler, tongue poked between his teeth. “I’d play for the Leafs. My blood runs blue and white.”

“I don’t see it. But, hey, we should get Patrice to get us some Bruins tickets sometime soon.”

“You not got the connection with that guy in their marketing anymore?”

“Nah, he went into rehab. But Patrice knows someone on the board of directors.”

“Let’s do it then.”

“We’ll get box seats and you can tell them all about your missed hockey career.”

Tyler got his hands up under Brad’s ribs and Brad let him press with his long, bony fingers. He looked thoughtful all of a sudden, and the silence between the two of them under the blanket was warm and muffled. Brad didn’t like that look on Tyler’s face. He flipped him over in one swift move.

Neither of them heard the knock at the door, but they noticed when Patrice walked in.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

“We’re busy.”

Patrice went to the bottom of the bed, his mood rumbling like an oncoming storm cloud.

“So I’m downstairs working and fielding phone calls from our friends up north, and where are my guys? Wrestling. Half naked. In bed.”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” said Brad. He had his arm braced across the back of Tyler’s skull as he pressed his face into the pillow. It wasn’t suffocation just yet, but almost.

“Oh what, your bedtime? Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep Marchand.”

Brad gave him a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile and got up onto his knees to counterbalance Tyler’s bucking.

“So which friends were you speaking to?”

“Carey Price wanted to talk sales.” Patrice rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to two adults who work for me, but can you please get off Tyler?”

Brad lifted his hands and Tyler reared up from the pillow gasping.

“_Fucker_. You nearly killed me.”

Patrice clapped his hands, an electric smack that made them both jolt. “Concentrate. For five seconds. Brad, I need you to go to Washington. Tell Ovi that Price wants to stiff us again, and if that Russian prick doesn’t get him to fall in line, then he can forget about selling our product.”

“Who am I taking?”

“Looch is kicking his heels at the moment, take him. And Krejčí. He’s got history with Bäckström, if you can’t get to speak to Ovechkin.”

“Sure. I’ll go in the morning.”

“Tell Ference to book your flights _tonight_. Segs, find out what’s going on with Montreal and Toronto. Price is either trying to cover up for a loss they’ve had, or he’s building up an insurance policy for something he’s about to do. And I’ll bet my right hand that either way it’s something to do with Toronto.”

Tyler nodded whilst he panted violently, still spread eagle on his back. Patrice watched as Brad and Tyler pulled the covers back over them. He glared at them for a long moment.

“Hello?

“What?”

“I just told you to do shit. Go and do it.”

“I’m texting Ference to book our flights, and I’ll pack in the morning.”

“And there’s no point me ringing Toronto now, it’s after ten o’clock. They’ll be wasted. I’ll ring them tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, apologies for asking you two to earn your fucking keep around here for once.”

They waited until Patrice slammed the door behind him before turning to each other.

“What jumped up his ass?”

“He’s stressed,” said Tyler, with a shrug.

“No shit Sherlock. What kind of pillow talk insight was that?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “There’s no pillow talk. He’s just wound up about Florida, we all know that.”

“I know I keep asking you this, but…you think he needs to be?”

Tyler let out a long breath. “I don’t know. They’ve got to tow the line though. They can’t want an outright war. Right?”

Brad watched Tyler’s face carefully, seeking out the shadows and hidden corners in his expression that very few people knew about. He found worry, and a small needle of anxiety. It was gone as soon as Tyler noticed him staring.

“Right. They’ll behave eventually.”

Tyler nodded and rolled onto his side.

“You going to sleep?”

Tyler seemed transfixed by the snow beyond the window for a moment. They hadn’t pulled the blinds down and the swollen grey sky was still dispensing a curtain of white over Boston.

“Er, no.”

Tyler rolled out of bed and Brad pulled the covers tighter around himself. He watched as Tyler went around the room and snagged his phone from where it had been tossed in their scuffles.

“You coming back later?” Brad asked. He was already feeling the pull of sleep, the sudden order to get up early and get on a plane to Washington making him feel tired in advance. Tyler didn’t bother to pull on a shirt and padded to the door barefoot and just in shorts, his skin blotched from heat and Brad’s soft punches.

“I don’t know.” Tyler looked back at Brad in bed. “Depends how stressed he really is.”

Brad wanted to say something. Tell Tyler that that wasn’t his job, to keep his boss emotionally stable and happy. That no matter what Tyler did, no matter how hard he tried, Patrice Bergeron wasn’t the sort of man who was ever going to truly be content. And that was ok, should be ok. Except for Tyler’s endless quest to salve every problem of the people he cared about.

He wanted to warn Tyler that Patrice resented these nights when he came to him as his comfort blanket. Just as much as Tyler resented whatever drive he had in himself to please those around him.

He wanted to say that Tyler and Patrice could be a whole lot better than whatever weird, emotionally stunted scaffolding they’d built up around their relationship.

Instead he just gave Tyler a lopsided smile.

“Goodnight Tyler.”

“Enjoy Washington, Marchy.”

* * *

Patrice leant into Tyler’s bedroom at 9p.m. the following night and crooked his finger.

“I need your help.”

Tyler was sprawled on his bed topless, scratching Marshall’s head with one hand and taking half naked photos with his other. Hey, he was bored.

“Huh?” Tyler asked, but Patrice was already gone. Tyler sighed and rolled off the bed. He found Patrice in his office.

“Shut the door.”

“What’s up?”

Patrice was smiling. Tyler realised with a little punch to the gut that he hadn’t seen that smile in so long. Was everyone more right about the state of things than Tyler had wanted to admit?

They had had a long talk after Patrice had yelled at him and Marchand over their apparent lack of care for their predicament. Patrice said all the right things ‘it’s just stress, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s nothing specific. I’m just tired. No, it’s nothing about Florida. It’s fine’. But Tyler had felt the distance between them as they’d spoken. He’d told Patrice he fancied sleeping in his own bed with Marshall that night. He didn’t like to admit the perfunctory kiss goodnight Patrice had given him stung, as well as the lack of any argument.

“I just got off the phone with Pittsburgh. Apparently Geno lost his cool at a meeting and beat the shit out of a kid from Philadelphia.”

“That sounds like Geno. Why is that our problem?”

“Because the kid he sent to the hospital is Luke Schenn’s little brother. Schenn’s said he wants retribution. Giroux gets it, but it’s not like he’s going to organise a jump on Evgeni Malkin. We need to try to negotiate Luke down from the cliff he’s currently about to fall off, because he’s angry and isn’t calming down like he should. He’s starting to make more noise than Pittsburgh appreciate.” Patrice held up his hands. “I promised Sid I would try.”

Tyler blew out a lot of air. “OK. That’s going to be tricky.”

“I know. But it’s good to try to keep Sid on side with all the merchandise coming in the next few months.”

“Do you know what this guy said to Geno?”

“Come on, it’s Malkin. It was either a slight against Sidney or mother Russia. Either way, it should have taught the kid a valuable lesson. But if someone doesn’t pay for it, Claude is going to have to do something against Pittsburgh, and it’ll backfire.”

“So…it’s also kind of a favour for Giroux?”

Patrice’s face fell into a scowl, which made Tyler laugh.

“OK whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you had any respect at all for Claude Giroux.”

“That’s better. We’d better get going. We’re off to Philly.”

His smile made Tyler’s heart sing. Patrice sounded like his old self. Maybe he’d been right. Florida was fine, everything was fine. He’d just been tired. Everything was OK.

The pair of them caught a late afternoon flight and Tyler slept open-mouthed the whole way. He was glad that Patrice didn’t use a smartphone for fear of FBI interference. He was under no illusion that unflattering pictures of Tyler would have been sent to everyone in the Boston Family and beyond. They landed and hailed a taxi to the Gritty bar in a Pittsburgh Family neighbourhood.

Patrice looked good. Casual but immaculate in his suit - no tie - his hair swept back and the scar across the top of his distinguished nose only partially faded after a particularly nasty fight with New York a few weeks back. He had his nice watch on, a Rolex, and he’d laid his hand on Tyler’s thigh the whole cab ride to the bar. By the time they got there Tyler was distractingly keyed up. He and Patrice hadn’t slept together for what felt like decades and he craved it unbearably.

The security at the door wasn’t surprised to see them. They found their way to where Luke Schenn was drinking and cursing at a hockey game on the overhead screen. The Gritty was a mix of high class establishment and low class boozer. It smelt like expensive cologne but the TV screens showed whatever game was on, and the food was reheated, deep-fried, and artery clogging. It wasn’t one of Claude Giroux’s favourites, but the rest of the Family enjoyed it for low level meetings like this.

They did a round of handshaking and then an over-eager bartender brought them whatever drinks they wanted. Tyler knocked back his whiskey and promised himself it’d be his only one. Being tipsy always made him horny. The warm print of Patrice’s hand on his thigh felt like a brand.

“It’s a matter of principle,” Luke Schenn said, watching Patrice inspect his drink. He’d ordered a beer from a label he knew, but he appeared interested in the finer details of its ingredients. Voráček was the other Flyer at the table, staring resolutely into the middle distance, probably thinking of what to have for his dinner when he got home. He was there to keep Schenn on track and was a few beers deep already. He was pretty senior for the task, but it was clear Claude wanted the problem solved without him personally having to get involved. A few Philadelphia soldiers were at the next table pretending not to be watching the meeting.

“Malkin jumped him. He’s just a kid.”

Tyler knew the ages of the Schenn brothers and Brayden was hardly a kid. But sometimes it didn’t matter your birth year - you assumed that role of everybody’s younger brother. Some guys were always ‘the kid’.

“I get that. But he was the one who decided to get chippy with Evgeni Malkin. Kid or not, he’s not stupid.”

Schenn shrugged. “I get you, Bergy. But he was there on Philadelphia business and Geno thinks it’s ok to just slam him into a wall. Brayden’s not senior yet, you know? What does it matter what he says? Geno was taking out his frustrations on a guy that can’t fight back or change anything. All because of something he said. Every Family says shit to each other all the time.”

Schenn pointed his glass towards Tyler.

“If Seggy went to Pittsburgh and was mouthy, and Geno fractured his ribs and knocked him out, would you be as calm as I’m being?”

Patrice looked over at Tyler. Tyler felt a fizz of something when his boss’s eyes landed on him. He waited for Patrice to turn away then gestured for another drink from the bartender.

“Tyler is different. Geno likes Tyler. If he said something that made Geno hit him, then he definitely stepped over a line. I would expect Tyler to take the beating he deserved.”

“Oh, thanks Patrice. Good to know. Voráček, quit laughing.”

Luke was smiling too, despite himself. “You know it’s the same thing Patrice. You’d want some sort of retribution.”

“What did he say to him?” Tyler asked. A new whisky landed in front of him.

Schenn waved his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Like hell you don’t know. Tell us. What did he say to Geno?”

Schenn shrugged his big shoulders. Voráček definitely knew because he was hiding a smirk amidst his tangled beard.

“Come on,” Patrice said. “Schenn, you know what he said is important. The kid might have very well deserved it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh it is the point. See, if Tyler went over to Geno and said to him ‘your husband’s a fucking cry baby, he deserves a slap’, then yeah. I’d expect Tyler to get beaten and I’d tell him that was his fault. And then I’d make him go apologise to both Sid and Geno. But if Tyler went to Malkin and gave him just some shit over the deal, or that his attitude sucked, and the same beating happened…well, you’re right, I’d be on the first plane out there to deal with the situation. So which was it?”

Schenn looked at them both in silence for a long time.

“Luke?”

“Fine. He may have said something about Sid. I don’t know what exactly. But…yeah. Something about Crosby.”

“Personal stuff?”

“Personal stuff.”

“Well then there you go. You go into another guy’s territory and talk shit about who he’s married to, you’re going to get knocked out. Especially with a guy like Geno.”

Luke looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t really have a comeback to that.

“He’s not fucking _apologising _though, OK?”

Tyler laughed. “If your brother wants to be in this game he’s got to learn how to lick someone’s boots if he does something wrong.”

“Plenty of experience of that, have you Seguin?”

“Look, don’t give Tyler shit for this. It’s your brother’s fault he did something that stupid. Can you just put an end to it? Give up complaining and tell Brayden to keep his head down for a while. It’s over.”

Tyler felt something in the air in a sudden rush. A tremble in his fingers, a ripple that moved through him. He was like an animal before an earthquake, he sensed danger before it came. So when he looked up and saw a series of headlight dash across the bar walls he knew that this meeting was about to get interesting. The others’ attentions were caught by the sound of a series of car doors slamming shut.

Voráček stood up sharply.

“Schenn,” he said, a warning. Luke jumped to his feet and spun. Tyler saw the look on his face as he saw what Voráček was warning him about. Pure panic.

“What the fuck are they doing here?” Luke asked Voráček, desperate. Voráček didn’t have an answer.

Tyler craned his neck to see the head of the Chicago Family, Jonathan Toews, walking towards them across the bar room floor. Behind him followed a pack of Chicago Family men ranging all the way from the young rookies to Toews’ right hand man Seabrook.

The Chicago Captain’s hair was going through some unfortunate regrowth after a fractured skull a few months before, but he had the same hawkish look to him. He’d made it into the top job in a notoriously strained city by being aggressive and cunning, and determined to get what he wanted. His meteoric rise had been frankly frightening, so much so that there existed a halo of space around him at all times, a blast safety zone that everyone kept out of, even his own men.

Patrice laughed into his beer and shook his head slowly.

“That guy’s so fucking dramatic.”

Tyler turned to Patrice. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“It’s their business. Let’s leave them to it.”

“Do we go?”

“We’ll finish our drinks and head out.”

Toews threw himself at Schenn and tackled him onto the table, sending glass and drinks flying.

“OK, maybe not.”

Chicago howled and cheered as they attacked the Philadelphia men in the room. More glass smashed, a table went flying, Voráček started screaming in Czech.

Tyler tried his best to get into the fight but Patrice wound him into this arms and pulled him into the back.

“No, no, we’re not getting involved.”

“Why not? Please, I haven’t been a fight in ages,” Tyler said into Patrice’s neck, enjoying a little too much the feel of Patrice plastered against him. He didn’t actually want a fight, he just wanted to stay there, pressed up against Bergeron’s front.

He even pressed a particular part of himself up against Bergy a little more insistently, just to get that message across.

When he craned his neck back he saw that Patrice was staring at him with a look that went right down Tyler’s spine. Patrice was already two steps ahead of him.

“Come with me,” Patrice said, just as a bottle exploded against the wall next to them. He grabbed Tyler’s hand and pulled him down the back corridor of the bar, into the single cubicle that functioned as the building’s bathroom. The lock was solid and sealed them away from the ruckus outside.They doubted Chicago were going to hang around, but speed wasn’t going to be a problem. 

Patrice pushed Tyler up against the sink. He gasped at the sting of cold porcelain against his back. His shirt had ridden up, rucked into Patrice’s hand. The other hand took up the job of pawing at Tyler’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler panted into his mouth. Patrice’s hand had moved down the front of his jeans when a body slammed into the door. There was a muffled groan and a rattle and then one more thump. 

Tyler licked a stripe up Bergy’s neck and laughed giddily into his ear.

Normally they were both noisy and Tyler was talkative, bossy. Like that, right there, wait, there-there-there, faster, yes god yes. It always made Patrice’s head spin trying to keep up. He liked to pick and choose which instructions he listened to, because he knew Tyler was a mouthy shit and said things for the sake of it. But finding the right instruction in those avalanche of words, the one that _really _made Tyler keen, that was the fun.

This time everything was silent except the slide of skin against porcelain and their ragged panting. Tyler didn’t even make a noise when he came, just latched his mouth on Patrice’s neck and sucked something painful onto his skin. Patrice wasn’t long after and he didn’t make a noise either, just a soft gasp from the back of his throat that was lost in Tyler’s hair.

The fight was over when they let themselves out of the cubicle. There was blood streaked across the floor and someone roared in pain from a back room. Patrice crossed the mess of broken chairs and glass littered across the bar to get back to Voráček. 

“You still here?” Voráček asked him, too distracted to be angry. He was bleeding from the mouth and clutching his shoulder.

“We stepped out for a moment, let you guys deal with business in private.”

“Just like Boston to clear out of the way in a fight,” Schenn shouted in their direction. One of his eyes was closed from a rapid swelling and his shirt was ripped. He disappeared back into the room where one of his men was screaming.

“Well, we’ll be on our way,” Patrice said, toeing splinters of chair wood off his shoe. “Good luck with…whatever this was.”

Voráček’s anger was slowly starting to come back. Patrice gestured for Tyler to follow and they headed for the door.

“Hey,” Voráček called after him. “You might want to hear this, Bergeron.”

“Hear what?”

“I was in Florida the other day. I saw Vincent Trocheck.”

Patrice stopped and Tyler nearly crashed into his back.

“What? No you didn’t. He’s been dead for like a year,” Tyler laughed, shaking his head. “You got a concussion or something?”

Voráček shrugged. “I know. But I saw him. Coming out the back of some warehouse in Tampa.”

“What merchandise were you smoking when you saw him?”

Tyler turned to Patrice to join in with the laughter, but Patrice was looking at Voráček with a solid, wide-eyed stare.

“Thought you’d want to know,” Voráček said easily. He turned back to the mess in front of him and kicked at the crumpled remains of a chair. “Now you can fuck off.”

Patrice and Tyler showed themselves out. “You ok?” Tyler asked, nudging Patrice in the side.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“What, you don’t really think that weirdo saw a dead guy down in Florida, do you?”

“No of course not. Come on, we’ve got to get back. I need to ring Sid. Tell him we held up our end of the deal.”

Tyler tried to slip his hand into Patrice's as they waited for a cab but Patrice moved it away with a movement deceptively small but glaringly deliberate. He used it to rearrange his shirt collar instead. 


	6. Chapter 6

DALLAS

Adjusting to Dallas took time. In many ways it was easier than Tyler thought, and in others it was worse than he could have feared. The hardest thing was learning to be in a large space, on his own, with only Marshall as a fellow heartbeat. Back in Boston he’d had his shitty apartment in the city where he could see into every corner of every room if he lay a certain way on his bed. The walls were so thin that when the neighbours sneezed he said ‘bless you’, and he typically got a ‘thank you’ in return. And in Patrice’s house he was never alone, because if he wanted company there was always someone around to entertain him, day or night.

In Dallas his house was his own. It felt disturbingly grown up.

His neighbours were talent agents, bar owners, B-list actors and board executives. Semi-famous or rich-adjacent people who wanted to show off on the streets but keep everything within their property limits private. The high hedges, obscured windows and occasional visitors in black-tinted SUVs only helped Tyler fit in with his neighbours. None of them bothered each other with welcome gifts or invites for BBQs and block parties.

Some nights it was comfortable, comforting even, to have this space that was just his. He would potter around putting things in place, organising where stuff went. His Mom had sent a whole box full of things ‘to decorate’. He enjoyed messing around with them on some nights. He tried out the photo frames and bowls of decorative pinecones in different places, and sniffed the various candles.

He could pick exactly what he watched on TV and how much food and drink he had in his own fridge. He did his own laundry, which exploded all his notions that clothes went on the floor of Patrice’s home and ended up clean and folded in his drawer by magic.

He bought himself some things too. New sheets for his huge bed. Some clothes to put in his wardrobes. A huge cushion for his couch that made it even more comfortable to sprawl on. New deck chairs for outside, because he’d decided the old ones were too dark a colour. It was weird to discover he had some form of personal taste for his home.

Other times his house was like his own personal torture chamber. On those nights he tested the limits of his TV sound system to fill every inch of his space with noise. And on the nights he was desperate for somewhere to go, somewhere to lose himself, he forced himself to stay indoors unless he could find a chaperone. He couldn’t trust himself alone in Dallas yet, not like this. His alcohol tolerance was so low. He still suffered by skipping pills and not eating enough. So if it felt like he was crawling out of his skin, out of his own mind, he would keep himself locked in unless he could go out with someone.

When his work kept him occupied it was like heaven. Jamie hadn’t brought him in to deal with his business within Dallas, but to help him manage what went in and out of the state. Tyler had connections and knowledge about other Families that few people could dream of. He cast his eye over old deals and set ups, pointed out where the flaws were, where they could push a particular Family rep more. He had a lot of opinions, and Jamie didn’t take them all on board, but Tyler respected him all the more for it. He wasn’t perfect at his job by any means, and Jamie seemed to be able to pick and choose the right thing amongst Tyler’s tirade of ideas and thoughts.

And Tyler got to know the city of Dallas, slowly. The places that became most familiar to him were the Family bars, where they hung out some nights as a group or did the quiet business deals that kept Dallas moving. Or the restaurants and food trucks the guys took him to in an attempt to demonstrate there was more to Texan cuisine than barbecue. He learnt where the best dog park was for Marshall and where to buy his favourite brand of OJ. He sent his address to some of his old non-Family friends back in Toronto.

He got on with Radulov more than he expected. They slept together a few more times, just as a stress reliever. It was a comfort to know that if Radulov stayed the night at Tyler’s he wouldn’t expect anything in the morning except chirping for his bed hair and petulant demands that he make him a coffee, because Tyler still hadn’t worked out his own stupidly expensive coffee machine.

Learning about Jamie was a process, Tyler told himself. Just like learning about Dallas, or about his new role, he had to tackle his boss like a puzzle. He thought he knew the guy a little after their brief encounters over the years, but it just wasn’t enough. The moment he got some pieces locked together, Jamie would say something or do something that blew everything out of place. It didn’t make him hard to be with. It was the opposite in fact. Tyler found himself hanging out at Jamie and Jordie’s more and more as time went on, hanging close to keep his eye on his new boss.

There were a few things that Tyler knew for sure about his Captain so far. Jamie was big, but not brash. He had a tendency to say unrelated but ultimately pertinent things at weird times, like his brain ran on a different timezone to everyone else’s. His voice got high pitched when he was genuinely amused and fell quieter the angrier he became. He was also unfairly hot. Tyler wasn’t sure if it was an ‘ageing like a fine wine’ situation, or maybe Tyler’s tastes changed, but he was alarmed at how attractive he found Jamie. And once he’d notice it he could track the slowly blooming attraction for his boss. For the way he walked, talked, smiled, rolled impossibly broad shoulders and always felt like a solid, immovable presence in every room. The formation of his face didn’t hurt either. But that was all too complicated to touch, so he compartmentalised that away in the packed recesses of the back of his brain where he stored all the many things he no longer wanted to think about. Frankly he was surprised he had any brain space left with all the shit stacked up back there.

As for Jordie, something fraternal in him drove the older Benn brother to make Tyler food when he appeared in their kitchen squawking like a baby bird that he was hungry. He seemed to know instinctively when Tyler was close to drinking too much or not looking after himself in quite the right way. Tyler passed some test of trust to be given a key to the Benn home, which Jordie proudly presented to him with a fluffy pom-pom keychain attached that Tyler refused to take as the intended joke and stubbornly kept.

The Family doctor, an alarmingly tall guy called Ben Bishop with a face older than his age, knew the score on Tyler’s medication. A pharmacy bag appeared in Tyler’s mailbox stacked with refills of his pills when needed. Tyler wondered if he had Tuukka to thank for that.

All in all, life was getting better as every week passed. Tyler reminded himself to appreciate that, and to keep the memories of it close. For the sake of his sanity. For when those black clouds rolled in and thoughts of Boston and nightmares kept him up at night.

* * *

“You made the right decision with Tyler,” Jordie said to his brother on a bright, sweltering Monday morning.

“Huh?” Jamie asked. He was hanging over his cereal bowl poking at the last vestiges of his claggy fruit and fibre mush. He’d finished most of it in his office, but some of the guys were over and he felt like he had to come out of his cave and talk to them.

“Bringing Tyler here was a good decision. Spezza’s so happy with the books at the moment he could cry.”

“He’s a smart guy.”

“He still has a lot to learn, but he’s doing us a lot of good. He’s doing you a lot of good.”

"_What_?"

"It means you're a clueless idiot, but I love you anyway."

Jamie opened his mouth to ask him what the hell _that_ meant but Tyler himself burst through the kitchen door with something in his hand and already mid-yell. Connor Carrick jumped up from his seat at the dining room table until he clocked who it was, then collapsed back in his chair.

“What the hell Tyler?”

“Calm down, Carrick.”

“Gave me a heart attack.”

Jordie grinned. “Yeah Segs, you gave the new guy a heart attack. How rude.”

“Just don’t go running in waving shit around,” Connor grumbled, picking up his newspaper again.

“What you got Tyler?” Jamie asked, trying not to smile too broadly. A sharp pain had lodged itself right below Jamie’s heart, and it stung. It was either fondness for the little scrunch of skin between Tyler’s eyebrows when he spoke, or the way his fingers fluttered when he talked, or the bed head he was rocking which, with his curls, was impressive to say the least. Or maybe it was indigestion.

“Khudobin got _six_ fines for speeding and parking illegally, all in my Mercedes.”

Jamie gestured towards Jordie. “He’ll sort it for you.”

Jordie took the letters handed to him and leafed through them all, “Wow. I did tell Dobby not to park on Scranton.”

“Tell him not to get caught speeding or parking where he shouldn’t _at all_ whilst he’s in my car. Half of these parking fines are in front of Starbucks, probably so he can buy those stupid venti ice frappuccinos he likes. The guy’s got a problem.”

“I can try, Tyler. The guys just get excited when they drive one of the nice cars.”

“It’s not ‘one of’ the nice cars it’s _my_ nice car. Why’s he driving it anyway? It’s not a pool car, he needs to keep his hands off and give me the spare key he clearly stole from me.”

Jordie held up his hands in supplication and resumed funnelling in his breakfast.

“Now we know Jordie needs to yell at Dobby again, can we get on with other stuff? You talk to Toronto?” Jamie asked Tyler.

Tyler folded himself onto a stool and poured himself a coffee. “I could only get through to Mitch. Apparently Auston and Willy were in Chicago causing trouble.”

“He give you any idea?”

“He said fifty, sixty at the most.”

“Did you tell him that’s a hilarious joke?”

Tyler shrugged one shoulder. “He can’t do much without asking AUston, he’s the one that runs their lines over the border. I told him to get back to me when he can talk to him, but we might have to force the answer soon.”

“We’re going to have to force it now. New York arrive at eight, and Lundqvist will want a drink with us tonight. I can’t give him nothing.”

Tyler checked his phone. “Give me a few hours, I’ll sort it. We hosting New York at the bar tonight?”

“Yeah. Wear your suit.”

Jamie glanced up and noticed Tyler staring at his abandoned cereal bowl with a mixture of exhaustion and tunnel vision.

“You slept at all, Tyler?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, enough.”

“You need breakfast?”

Jordie slid a plate of pastries across the countertop. Whilst Jamie had recently banned himself from eating all pastry goodness his housekeeper Ella had only reduced the number she bought rather than getting rid of them altogether. Jordie still ate like a pig and stayed in shape seemingly through the power of prayer and unwillingness to listen to doctors. The rest of the guys had metabolisms like freight trains or an innate ability to say no to second helpings. Jamie wasn’t so lucky.

Tyler picked up a croissant and started to pull it into tiny pieces, but not so much as a flake passed his lips.

“Can I talk to you, Jamie? Privately?” asked Tyler, low enough that his voice melted under the sound of the other guys in the room swapping stories back and forth.

“Sure. Come to my office.”

Jamie shut the door firmly behind them when they entered. Juice looked up from where he was snuggled on Jamie’s chair and panted forlornly. Jamie went over and scooped the dog up whole from his chair, and sat back down with Juice on his lap.

“And you say I’m soft with Marshall.”

Jamie didn’t give Tyler the satisfaction of being correct.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“New York.” Tyler settled on the edge of the desk. He was practically vibrating.

“What about New York?”

Tyler looked down at his fingers. His knuckles were permanently busted and bleeding, never quite healing because he always picked at the old scabs and opened up new ones. Jamie was pretty sure Tyler didn’t even know that was a habit. “The last time I saw some of these guys was when I was working in Boston. And I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”

Jamie ran a hand down Juice’s head and the dog folded into his chest, happy to be accepted for a cuddle.

“It was when I got back from the hospital. I wasn’t well and Tuukka wasn’t watching me. Apparently I slipped away and into a meeting.”

“Was this the meeting between New York, Philly, Pittsburgh and Boston that everybody said definitely didn’t happen?”

Tyler’s eyes shuttered slightly, and Jamie corrected his course.

“Never mind. What happened?”

“I made an ass of myself in front of them. I didn’t know which way was up, but apparently I was shouting about Vincent Trocheck.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. The guy whose funeral everyone attended.”

“Why were you talking about him?”

Tyler rubbed at his face. He definitely looked tired, the bags under his eyes more like bruises. “No idea. I was hopped up on whatever Tuuks and the hospital gave me. I guess…I don’t know, the idea of Florida and him got sort of mixed up in my head.”

“What has this got to do with tonight?”

“The last time they saw me I was off my head. I looked like shit, I was talking nonsense. You think they’re going to treat me the way they should? New York are the most old school Families. They work on respect, and not showing your weakness. I’m just saying that I might not be as useful these next few days as you hope.”

“Tyler, you were sick.”

“They’re old fashioned,” said Tyler, insistent. “Their guys turn up to meetings no matter what’s happening. Henrik had a bullet removed one morning and was in Boston in the afternoon yelling at me about shipping costs. Eberle’s come to our meetings after his shoulder had been separated and, like, not pushed back in yet. It was disgusting, but he did it. I’ll have lost credibility with them.”

Jamie chewed the thought over for a while. It would look strange if he wasn’t there, but Tyler was right. The New York Families were old school in every sense of the world, still existing off a hierarchical system of machismo points that were withheld and handed out according to a strict and unspoken set of social rules. Henrik Lundqvist had truly broken ground in being the only foreign-born head in the history of their existence. 

“What do you want me to do? I need you there.”

“They’ll just try to push their luck. They won’t want to hear anything from me, unless you ask me to talk to them. I’m just going to have to sit there.”

Tyler picked at a bit of skin on his left knuckle. It wasn’t a side to his new employee that Jamie had seen before. Unsure, nervous even.

“We’re hosting them at the bar tonight. Come along. I don’t care what New York think, I’m using you as much as I need to.”

Tyler was quiet for a while before nodding tightly and standing up off the desk.

“OK.”

“I mean it, Tyler. Fuck New York. If I suspect they’re using whatever they think of you to undercut me, I’ll let them know.”

Tyler was back at the door when Jamie spoke again.

“Tyler?”

“Hm?”

“You sleeping ok?”

“You asked me that already, boss.”

“I’m asking again.”

Tyler waved a hand. “It’s fine. I’m busier now. It’s better.”

Better than what, Jamie didn’t know. Better than Boston? Better than being on Dallas house arrest whilst Jamie worked him out? Better after having slept with Alexander Radulov?

Yeah, Jamie knew about that. Even his own people underestimated him, and they never seemed to suspect he knew exactly when they were all sleeping with one another.

“Bish can give you sleeping pills.”

“I’m taking so many drugs I doubt I could fit sleeping pills in.”

Jamie shrugged a shoulder. “Fair enough.”

Tyler put his hand on the door but Jamie wasn’t finished.

“If you need some, let me know. I’ll send Rads over with them.”

Tyler looked back at him for a long moment. Eventually he broke the stare and opened up Jamie’s office door. He didn’t shut it behind him as he left. Jamie looked down at the work in front of him and let out a long, controlled breath. He could just imagine Jordie’s triumphant words if he’d heard any of that conversation. ‘This is why you don’t date, Jamie. Because the wrong thing comes out of your mouth at the wrong time and you sound like a jerk’. Jamie threw his pen down and Juice whined on his lap.

“Sorry buddy, not your fault. It’s me. Your Dad’s right, you know. He’s always fucking right.”


	7. Chapter 7

BOSTON

Tyler didn’t talk to Brad about what Voráček told them. And he’d gone back to ignoring Patrice in the hopes that something, anything, would change without them having to have a terrible and awkward conversation. He wasn’t Patrice’s boyfriend, as he pointed out to everyone who would listen, so it wasn’t his responsibility. Patrice had other people to talk to; old hands like Horty and Shawn; guys who always gave good advice like Peverley or McQuaid; hell even Chara would probably be able to fill the role of assuring him that no, Vincent Trochek had not come back from the dead to lead Florida in a battle cry against the other Families.

But still, the conversation weighed on Tyler. It didn’t help that everything with Florida was, indeed, going to shit.

“I don’t know what to tell you man,” he said to Ryan Suter from Nashville when Florida torched one of their warehouses.

“They’re fucking out of control, aren’t they your Family’s problem?”

“Why are they our problem?”

“You, Washington, New York, Pittsburgh, the entire east coast, _you _lot. Your problem.”

“Jesus, quit yelling Suter, you’re going to give yourself a hernia.”

“We lost half of our merchandise, Seggy! Half of it, gone up in flames, and we know it was Florida. Everybody’s talking about them wanting to screw with the rest of the Families, it’s not like it’s goddam news. You were down there the other week, why didn’t you do something? Oh no wait, you did, you broke some bottles at their bar with Biz. Well done. Great show of strength by Patrice there, sending his bitch and an old has-been down to reprimand a Family that wants to murder us all in our sleep.”

“It’s going to sound like I’m hanging up, Ryan, but it’s only because I am.”

Tyler threw his phone onto the couch and collapsed backwards against the cushions. It began to ring furiously again but he ignored it.

“Who was that?” Brad asked, appearing in the living room holding a spoon and an ice cream tub.

“Suter.”

“About their warehouse fire?”

“Yeah. He wanted to talk to Patrice but I was the only one around. I like how they complain to _us_ about sorting out Florida, but they aren’t calling up Pittsburgh or Philadelphia or Washington.”

“How do you know?”

Tyler sighed. “I guess I don’t. But I suspect they think Patrice is being soft.”

“Maybe he is.”

Tyler frowned at him. “It’s not like he can go in and just raze Florida to the ground. Patrice met with the other Families and they all agreed that we’d just sanction them, maybe frighten them a bit into doing what they’re told. That’s all he can do.”

Brad just raised his eyebrows and spooned salted caramel fudge into his mouth.

“Ok, what do you think he should do?”

“I think he should get everyone together and actually come up with a plan to get rid of them totally.”

“Wow. It’s not like you to go for the extreme option, Marchy.”

Brad lowered himself onto the other end of the couch.

“They’re taking it too far. How many years did it take for all of the Families to come up with treaties and agreements to stop us all killing each other so much? If we’d been doing this job ten years earlier, we’d have probably been dead before we were twenty. It was brutal. Everyone agreed that we needed to bring it down, and Florida are ruining that. They want to go back to the bad old days, and if we let them get away with it then we will.”

Tyler knew he was right. That was what kept him up at night. His phone lit up again with a number he didn’t recognise.

“Yeah?”

“Tyler Seguin?” a voice asked. He’d heard that voice before, but he couldn’t place who it belonged to.

“Yeah, whose this?”

“Jamie Benn. From Dallas.”

Jamie Benn wasn’t just _from_ Dallas, he was the new Captain. Tyler didn’t know much about Dallas, or about Jamie, except that they’d bumped into each other a few times over the years. There was a brief encounter at the Gonchar wedding, and he was sure there was another one he should remember. But it wasn’t like Dallas needed to be on his radar much.

“Oh, right. Whaddya need?”

“The last time I spoke to Patrice he told me that there was nothing to worry about from Florida,” Jamie said, his voice not much above a whisper and the pace oddly slow, like he was choosing every word carefully.

“What’s happened?”

“They attacked us in Houston. There’s three of my guys in the hospital. They hit some of our lines in Austin and scattered them. We won’t get money out of it for at least two months.”

“What do you want Patrice to do about it?”

Jamie paused long enough that Tyler nearly checked to see if the line had been cut. “We need help from Boston to get rid of the problem. But we asked for it before. And Patrice told us a lie.”

“It wasn’t a _lie_, ok, he has no idea what Florida are going to do anymore than anyone else. He’s trying. We’re all trying, the whole east coast is trying.”

“Try harder. Or tell us what we need to do.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Patrice isn’t here, and I don’t know what he’s talked about with the other Families. I’ll get him to call you when I see him.”

“Thank you.”

The line did go dead then.

“Who was that?”

“Jamie Benn.”

“Who?”

“Dallas boss.”

“Ah. I didn’t know that was his name, I thought it was Jordie?”

“No, his name is Jamie.”

Brad passed his spoon over to Tyler and he helped himself to some of the ice cream from the quickly melting tub.

* * *

Patrice had a headache. He wasn’t sleeping enough. He’d taken to just swallowing pain pills when he felt like it, and he was sure he was taking too many, but didn’t know how much worse the headache would be if he stopped. He could feel the mounting pressure of his job around him like a steady pile of rocks ready to avalanche over his head. People needed things, money needed to move, but Florida were taking up all of his headspace. And if he wasn’t thinking about them he was fielding phone calls from bosses up and down the country wanting to know what the east coast were doing about them. And when he wasn’t answering them he was calling the other east coast Families demanding that someone give him some goddamn help with the anger being flung in their direction.

He finished a call to Alexander Ovechkin from Washington and noticed Tyler lurking in his doorway. He tried to ignore him, but he knew Tyler too well. He was persistent and never let things go - that was what made him so good at his job.

“Shouldn’t you go to bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Jamie Benn called. The new Dallas boss.”

“I know who Jamie Benn is. What did he want?”

“Apparently Florida ransacked Houston and messed things up for them in Austin. You know how much they depend on those other cities, and they aren’t happy that Jamie got the top job in Dallas anyway. He sounded like he wanted permission to do something about it.”

“Well he can sit down and wait. I’ve got a list a mile long of problems people have with Florida and, for some reason, they are _all _my problem.”

Patrice rubbed at his eyes for a long time. When he looked up Tyler had moved to sit on the desk.

“What?”

“You know it’s actually not all _your _problem, right Bergy?”

Patrice finally looked up at Tyler properly. He was trying to grow a beard, which Patrice had noticed over the last few weeks had actually filled out from a scraggly shadow to genuine facial hair status. He was letting his hair grow on top a bit too. It suited him, though Patrice wasn’t sure where he was going with it. What he was sure about was that he wasn’t going to say anything, because Tyler was sensitive to his opinions in a way Patrice found uncomfortable. So he didn’t want to squash whatever new look the kid was going for. Well, he wasn’t a kid anymore. There was seven years distance between them and every year Patrice felt Tyler get a little better at navigating through life. But right now, when things were fucked up to the heavens, Patrice couldn’t let Tyler wander into this territory. There was no navigation for this situation. Even he was without a compass and swimming in the fog. It was days like this he wished he’d never got this job and that Zdeno was still in charge.

Patrice put his hand on Tyler’s knee and squeezed.

“I know. It’s fine, I’m sorting it. Look, why don’t you go to North Carolina instead of me tomorrow?”

Tyler searched Patrice’s face for some hidden meaning. He stared back at him as neutrally as possible.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Raleigh’s fun, they’ll show you a good time. I’ll let Staal know I’m sending you instead and you can negotiate that deal for me. It’s already agreed, we just need to tidy up the small points. The flight’s first thing in the morning, you can ask McQuaid for the details and to get the tickets changed.”

“OK,” Tyler said slowly, trying to work out what was going on.

“What?”

“It’s just that you need help with Florida. I can help.”

If it were up to Patrice, none of his men would help with Florida. But he could at least save one of them it for just a few nights.

“Just go to Carolina and have fun. Florida will still be a pain in the ass when you get back.”

Patrice’s phone began to ring. As he picked up Tyler squeezed his shoulder and gave him a smile that said a lot. That he knew what game Patrice was playing, that he was disappointed he didn’t want his help, that he wished he could do something to make Florida go away. Patrice raised a hand and waved him goodnight and goodbye. 


	8. Chapter 8

DALLAS

Hosting another Family was always a headache, especially when that Family was New York. New York was one of the oldest Families in North America and they enjoyed being treated as such. They were a stickler for every rule and tradition and outdated made-up bullshit that they were all meant to abide by but hardly ever paid attention to anymore. Henrik Lundqvist could charm a paper bag, which certainly helped when New York were infuriating and rigid and had few friends. To have a guy like Henrik at the helm was always useful.

They didn’t really do much trade and the relationship was more of a mutual agreement to help one another when needed. This time it was New York who needed the help, which was why they had bothered to make the trip to Dallas.

Jamie made sure the protocol they were all supposed to know by heart was followed to the letter when New York visited. They’d been collected at the airport by Dallas’s own fleet of vehicles and a couple of Dallas drivers. They were being hosted at a smart hotel in town, and Jamie was thankful Henrik had only brought a small group. The hotel fees themselves cost him a small fortune. They had at least two informal meetings for every official meeting in the diary, another unspoken rule that New York wanted followed exactly. The first ‘relaxed’ gathering was at one of Dallas’s main bars that was also happily close to Jamie’s home. As he entered through the back door he was already longing for his own bed and the time he got to crawl into it.

Radulov was ahead of him and Klinger and Jordie behind him. Jordie prattling, Klinger nodding along, Radulov quiet and hyper-aware. Tyler had gone off to get changed sometime earlier in the evening. When the trio entered the bar there was only Connor and Radek waiting for them.

“No Tyler?”

“He’ll be here,” Radek said in that steady way of his.

Jamie unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on one of the bar stools. The whole building had been shut down for the night and rather than organise an official meeting room in the back they’d decided to keep the gathering in the front. Radek was organising the drinks. He poured Jamie a whiskey and Jordie a scotch without needing to be asked.

7.45pm came and went.

“Give Tyler a call, will you?” Jamie asked Jordie.

Jamie played with his glass, half an ear on the conversation between his men and half on the road outside, waiting for the sound of New York’s arrival.

“He isn’t picking up.”

“Are you kidding?”

“He’ll show.”

Jamie sighed and gestured for Faksa to fill up his whiskey again. He waited for Radek to move away before turning to Jordie.

“He came to me this afternoon to say he was worried that New York would treat him differently after seeing him sick in Boston,” Jamie hissed. “And then he does this?”

“He’s not late yet.”

“And when has Lundqvist been anything other than early?”

“I’ll ring him again.”

“Boss,” Radulov called from the door. He nodded a head to the street outside. “They’re here.”

“Fuck me,” Jamie sighed. He stood up from the barstool and tried his very best to look relaxed in the middle of the room. Jordie didn’t bother to give him an update when he joined him. 

Klingberg popped the door open and a few younger New York men came in first, looking tired from their trip. They shook the hands of the other men around their level in the Dallas organisation and didn’t so much look at Jamie. It was supposed to be a mark of respect, but it was all Jamie could do not to roll his eyes.

More car doors open and shut on the street.

“If Tyler doesn’t get here in the next five seconds I am going to kill him,” Jamie said under his breath to his brother. Klingberg opened up the door again and Henrik Lundqvist came through with Tyler practically on his arm.

“Jamie Benn,” Henrik said in those elongated American vowels he’d gained from living in New York for so many years. “Nice to see you. Thank you for having us.”

Jamie shook his hand and blinked stupidly at them both. Tyler beamed back at him.

“And what an idea to send Tyler over to greet us at the hotel. I haven’t seen Seguin in a such a long time,” Henrik said, laying his hand at the small of Tyler’s back and flashing him his infamously pearly smile. Jamie’s stomach began to burn.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Tyler said, looking up at the New York boss through his lashes - which was impressive as they were both the same height. “Good chance to catch up with old friends before we have to get to the boring stuff.”

Tyler turned his own 100-watt smile on Jamie. Yep, it was indigestion. Tyler had given Jamie fucking indigestion and he had no Pepto-Bismol to hand.

Tyler gestured to the bar. “Faksa, two double whiskeys.”

He went over to collect them whilst Lundqvist and the higher-ups who had made the trip shook hands with the Benns: the blandly handsome and earnest Brady Skjei; the up and coming Chris Kreider with his bristly new moustache; and Anders Lee, who was always brought along to represent the Islanders like an unwanted dog dragged along by a leash. Tyler pressed Lundqvist’s drink into his hand and Jamie finally wrestled his voice under control.

“It’s good to have you, Henrik. How was your trip?”

“Rough landing, but other than that all good. The hotel more then made up for it.” He took a drink of the whiskey and at least he seemed to approve of that. Though Henrik said all the right things Jamie could hear the thinly veiled criticisms underneath his words. The hotel wasn’t nice enough, why did Dallas Fort Worth have to be such a shitty airport, why did I even bother to come here?

“Well, I’m glad you made it safely,” Jamie said, trying not to let his own double meaning leak through his voice. “Shall we take a seat?”

They moved to one of the nicer booths at the back of the room. Kreider slid in next to Henrik, then Brady, who flashed Anders a triumphant smile when there was no room for him to squeeze in next to them. Jamie and Jordie sat opposite them with Tyler at the end of the bench. Jamie tried his best not to let his shoulder brush against Tyler’s.

“So…when was the last time I saw you, Jamie?” Henrik asked, expanding his hands across the table as though inviting everyone to take a guess.

“I guess it must have been at the benefit in Nashville,” Jordie said, forever and always his younger brother’s diary.

“Subban’s charity thing? Surely not, that was eighteen months ago.”

“You’re right. It must have been in Colorado then.”

Henrik nodded. “You’re right. I have to thank you, Jamie, for not letting Ovechkin dominate that meeting. I’m sure you can understand that most of us on the east coast are sick of him, so we let him talk a lot more than he should do.”

“I can handle Ovi,” Jamie said simply. There was a lot more there to unpack that he didn’t want to get into, but at least Henrik seemed to be relaxing. They talked unimportant stuff and gossip about the other Families for a while. This wasn’t a formal meeting, and work was off the table, but Jamie was still glad that Tyler and Jordie were at his side. It didn’t matter how informal these things were supposed to be, it was best to stay on guard. Words got twisted, meanings were taken literally, insults could be dug out of nothing. Deals could be lost or won based on the simple sharing of a conversation and a drink.

After a while Henrik reached out his empty glass wordlessly towards Anders, who had been loitering mutinously near the booth. Anders was saved from having to play waiter by Tyler, who stood and extricated Henrik’s finished glass from Lee’s hand. “I’ll get us the bottle.”

He sauntered over to the bar and came up to where Radek was pretending to lounge.

“Can we get the bottle?”

“Sure,” Radek said slowly. He found a fresh one under the bar and placed it onto the top. “So you were at New York’s hotel?”

“I was doing my job.”

“You weren’t here.”

“Oh you mean I wasn’t sitting in Jamie’s lap?” Tyler spun the cap off the bottle and threw it onto the floor behind the bar. “New York were supposed to have someone greet them at the hotel, someone other than the drivers. That’s the tradition. You’d all forgotten that. So I saved the day.”

Radek’s replying sigh said a lot of things. Tyler shook the bottle in his direction as a thank you, picked up a clean glass for Henrik and went back to the booth. He could have sworn Anders growled at him as he passed. New York were fucking weird, but he never understood the way the Islanders had to play subservient to the bigger Family’s every need. Or the weird masochistic kick they got out of it.

Tyler plonked the bottle down and let everyone help themselves. The conversation flowed more easily the more alcohol went into the glasses. Henrik was easy and charming, his two guys good to talk to. Anders watched them all, fixated, making all three Dallas men uncomfortable but seemingly not affecting the New York men at all. They were probably used to it.

About an hour in and everyone was suitably merry. The party had widened to include some of the guys from the next rung down and a few card games had even cropped up. Jamie lost a hand of poker and stood to excuse himself. Henrik barely noticed, too busy rinsing everyone at the table of their cash. 

Tyler folded on the next hand without looking at his cards and whipped away from the table. He tracked Jamie down the back corridor towards the bathrooms and finally caught up with him and Dobby at the fire door.

“Jamie, wait.”

Jamie stopped. Dobby barrelled on, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, and let the fire door swing shut behind him.

It was dark in the narrow hallway. And Tyler hadn’t quite judged his distance right, so he’d stopped right against Jamie’s shoulder. They were standing close, close enough that Tyler could smell Jamie’s cologne.

“Everything OK?”

“Look, I know I wasn’t here when they arrived but-”

“But you knew that Henrik needed someone to greet him at the hotel and that we’d forgotten. And that going there and being ‘that’ guy would help you get back their respect after being sick the last time.”

Tyler blinked back at him for a moment. Not for the first time he wished his boss wouldn’t do this. Be this mix of gorgeous and competent all at once. The fire exit sign cast his face in a green wash, lighting up the ends of his hair and his eyelashes. Tyler wondered if this was the first sign of being well and truly screwed, when he noticed his bosses eyelashes. 

“Yeah. That was exactly it. I should have told you earlier.”

They both heard the invisible ‘but’ at the end of that. ‘But’ Jamie had been a dick. ‘But’ Tyler still felt the need to prove himself to his boss. ‘But’ Tyler liked the drama. Jamie put a hand against the door and nodded back to the bar. 

“You don’t mind entertaining them for a bit, do you? I need a minute.”

“Sure.”

Jamie pushed open the door.

“Jamie wait. How I do this job, what I do in my day, hell even who I sleep with…that’s not your decision, OK? If I can’t be at Boston then I can enjoy not doing things the way I’m ‘supposed to’. I do things the way I want. Or I’m not doing it.”

Jamie nodded. “I understand, Tyler. Do the job the way you want. I won’t stop you.”

“Really?” Tyler asked, the word barely more than an outward breath.

“When I told people I wanted you to come here, a lot of them said the same thing. If Tyler Seguin is let loose from Boston, god knows what he’ll do. They said you needed someone to keep you in line like the Boston Family did, or you’ll make a mess of everything. I told them all the same thing. You’re only going to get better away from there, where they didn’t let you be who you wanted.”

“Thank you,” Tyler said, because he didn’t know what else to say. He pulled himself together a fraction. “People said to me that I was going to come to Dallas and die. That you were too young and stupid to know what to do to make this city work.”

Jamie nodded once, the familiar words doing nothing to sting him anymore. “I know.” He looked at Tyler with an intensity as strong as that blank look he’d thrown at him the first day he’d walked into his kitchen. “Let’s prove them wrong.”


	9. Chapter 9

BOSTON 

Patrice rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. 03:48. It felt too early to give up trying to sleep but too late to try too hard. He was alone in bed. Tyler was still in Carolina, obviously having a good time if the lack of updates was anything to go by. Sometimes when Patrice was feeling particularly sentimental - which wasn’t often, granted - he let Marshall into his bedroom if Tyler wasn’t around. But the black Lab was in Brad’s room, no doubt snoring as loud as Marchand under the covers.

Patrice hauled himself out of bed, wandered past Peverley asleep in the chair outside his suite, and went to pour himself a drink. He found a book on a shelf in his office and holed himself up to read himself to sleep.

He thought the house was sleeping around him, that they’d left him behind hours ago. But an hour later he heard a thump. And footsteps. And a ripple of voices, as though something had been thrown and shattered the quiet like glass. He listened, eyes off the words in his book, waiting for the noise to fade. It didn’t. More footsteps, and they were running towards his door.

When Brad burst in he already knew something was terribly wrong. He dropped his book and stood.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Tyler. You need to talk to Carolina.”

Patrice followed him to the kitchen where Peverley and Tuukka were clustered around Brad’s cellphone.

“Staal, Patrice is here.”

There was a commotion on the other end of the phone, but finally Eric Staal’s voice came over the line.

“Bergeron, something’s happened.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know the details but Sutter and Seguin were driving in Raleigh and a car T-boned them. Brandon’s in a coma, we can’t ask him what happened. But when the EMTs got there, Tyler wasn’t in the car.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Someone’s snatched him, Patrice. He’s gone.”

The silence around them echoed like a gunshot. It stretched on and on as they all stared down at the phone, as though they could watch as Staal desperately tried to sort out the shitstorm with his hand poorly muffling the speaker.

“Eric, when did this happen?” Patrice asked eventually.

“The hospital called us about Sutter twenty minutes ago. I sent someone to the site and that was when we knew for sure Tyler wasn’t there. The officer at the scene said there were tyre marks heading away from the crash, so there must have been a second car they put him in.Guys, there’s no trace of him. He’s just disappeared.”

Eric Staal talked more about sending his men out to search, but they didn’t know where to start. They were talking to their friends in the police force. They would organise flights and a place to stay for anyone from Boston who joined the search. He was sorry.

Brad didn’t hear any of it. There was a muffled ringing in his ears, like someone had slapped their hands down hard on the sides of his head. He was stunned. He looked up at Patrice and he only felt worse. His boss, his old friend, was ashen faced. His eyes were unfocussed. He was staring at the desk beneath him just to the side of the phone where Eric Steal’s name was still illuminated as the most recent caller. 

“Patrice. What the hell do we do?”

It took a long moment for Patrice to pull himself together, but Brad saw it happen. Saw a twitch come back into his fingers, caught the flex of his throat, watched him as he took in a breath and his vision came back. A flush of anger and blood went through his face, bringing Patrice Bergeron back to life.

“Wake everyone up and get them here. Everyone. I’m going to call Chara and then Crosby and the other Captains on the east coast. We need them searching their cities and on alert. If this is them making a move then we’ve all got to be ready for what might happen next. You guys call anyone that Tyler knows in other Families. He’s going to need all the friends he’s got.”

“We should call Subban,” Tuukka said, his voice quiet but steeled. “If they take him back to Florida they might have to go through Nashville.”

“So it _is_ them then. This is Florida? Florida have Tyler,” Peverley said.

“We can’t know for sure. That’s why we need to get the Captains on the phone, now, and ask them for help. Formally.” Patrice’s loss had been replaced by quiet fury. “Anyone that doesn’t give us a response is fucking guilty.”

* * *

Brad’s chest hurt. Pevs and a few others in the house were currently banging on the doors of every Boston Family member across the city. Tuukka went to call the guys he knew in their allied Families, and any friends he had in others. Patrice shut himself in his office to do his own set of phone calls.

Brad woke up Ference and Krejčí and filled them in. They both stared back at him uncomprehendingly, like they were dreaming. Brad knew the feeling. He tripped over his own feet, he couldn’t find his keys or his phone, his brain was cotton-wrapped and useless. He couldn’t get his words out over the phone to Toronto, Colorado, Chicago, anywhere that Tyler had close connections.

He staggered into Patrice’s office an hour after the call from Staal and found his boss stood at his desk. His hands gripped the side of it like he was on a lurching boat about to be thrown overboard. Aside from his heaving chest he was completely still.

“What do we do? Patrice, what do we do?”

Patrice didn’t say anything for a while. When he did, his voice was wrecked.

“I’ve called the bosses in the other east coast Families. They’re searching their cities and they know to look out. I’ve sent a group to Raleigh to search. I’ve told Chara.”

Brad approached him carefully.

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“If anyone gets _any _phone call from Florida, they send it to me, OK?”

“You think they’ll hold him for ransom?”

Brad wished he hadn’t said the words the minute they crossed his lips. It just made his fears all the more real.

“That’s what used to happen back in the day. In twenty four hours you’d get the call with the price. But Marchy…I don’t know with these guys, I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t even know who it is. Is it Stamkos, is it Luongo, is it the Tampa or Miami Families or is it just some lone nut jobs? And if they’re declaring all-out war then we might not get the phone call.”

Brad swallowed past something hard in this throat. “But if they have him, they need to call us. Because what would be the point of taking him? If they wanted they could have killed him then and there in the car. They didn’t need to take him away.”

The two of them stood in terrible silence and thought through all the possibilities. Eventually Patrice straightened up from his desk and rubbed a hand across his face. “We can’t think about that. We just have to get this right. We need to be careful. But we can bring him home.”

* * *

Jamie Benn, newly appointed Captain in Dallas, was watching the morning news when his brother’s phone rang with a number he didn’t recognise. He saw something on Jordie’s face when the person on the other end of the phone introduced themselves.

“Erm, sure. He’s here, I’ll put him on.”

Jordie extended the phone to Jamie. “It’s Zdeno Chara.”

“What?”

“Chara. He wants to speak to you.”

Jamie stood up and wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his sweats before taking the phone.

“Are you sure?” he asked, one hand over the speaker.

“I’m not kidding, talk to him.”

Jamie lifted the phone. “Hello?”

“Jamie. It’s Zdeno Chara.”

“Chara. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard anything yourself, but there’s been an act of aggression against Boston from Florida.”

“We’ve had a few ourselves. What’s happened?”

“They’ve taken one of our men. Tyler Seguin. As far as we can tell he’s a hostage, but we don’t know what they want yet.”

Jamie pushed Jordie away from where he was trying to lean in and listen to the conversation. “Tyler Seguin?”

“Yes. I’m sure you know him, most people across the Families have dealt with Tyler at some point. He’s important to us. Florida know that.” Chara paused for a moment, and his clear cut voice became harder. “Jamie, as an ally to Boston and the east coast Families, we’re sure we can count on your support in helping to find him. And to assist us in dealing with Florida.”

Jamie felt a prickle at the top of his spine. Those words were the culmination of years of death and misery and handshakes and negotiations. Years of hard work had gone into creating a network of allies that Families could draw upon when needed. Boston was lighting a flare and Dallas, as their friend, was expected to rush to their aid.

“Of course. You’ve got the full support of the Dallas Family.”

“Thank you. If you could call Brad Marchand in the next hour he will let you know how you will be most helpful. Needless to say if you hear or see any sign of our Florida friends, let us know.”

“I will.”

“I must go. As you can imagine we have many of these phone calls to make.”

“Of course. Wait, Chara.”

“Yes?”

“Is this…is this war? Is this what Florida have been planning?”

“We don’t know, Benn. We don’t know yet.”

* * *

Tyler tasted metal. He was sure it was blood, but he couldn’t spit it out. It was pasted to the inside of his mouth, across his tongue. He lifted a hand clumsily and felt something tacky and warm all over the lower half of his face.

Someone grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand away.

“I don’t know where this is supposed to go in his arm. This wasn’t meant to be my job.”

“Just make it up as you go along, it’s not that difficult. We’re almost there.”

“Yeah quit whining and get on with it.”

The voices above him didn’t seem to belong to anyone. All Tyler could see was a sliding kaleidoscope of colours. When he felt a dull thud against whatever he was lying on the kaleidoscope rattled and changed, and everything was spun on its head again. Between the colours was darkness and a smell. The smell of diesel and blood and the press of people enclosed in a small space.

“What do I do if he’s coming round?”

“Give him more. Just don’t kill him.”

Something tapped against Tyler’s cheek sharply. “Hey, hey. You awake or not?”

A noise came out of him unbidden. He didn’t know who was talking to him, where to direct the sound, but he felt warmth suddenly closer. The colours moved again.

“I think I should give him more.”

“Do it then, I’ve got to concentrate on driving.”

Tyler wanted to laugh. The voices were alien. He knew the shape of the words but not what they meant. It was like listening to a language he only half understood. A little spark of pain came up from his arm and he did laugh then. It was funny, feeling pain under all the colours. He wasn’t sure why, but it was. Then his head swam to blackness and the pain and the colours faded to nothing. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this 'Jamie having a little room of the kitchen where he does his coffee and does a lot of staring at stuff with seemingly no self-awareness' from this Open Ice video: https://youtu.be/eMlG8M8AruE?t=640

DALLAS

Jamie liked routine. He liked a rhythm. It wasn’t an easy thing to have in his line of work. So his morning routine was sacred to him, the one time he was able to control what he did before the doors burst open around 11 and work came pouring in.

He woke up without the need for an alarm at 7.30. The first thing he did was head to the bathroom and then put on his watch, the same watch he wore every day. He gave himself ten minutes after getting back into bed to come around and to listen to the silence. He dressed in whatever sweats he had nearby, reserving proper clothes for after 11am. He drank two strong coffees, from the same mug, in the ante-room off the kitchen.

He made the coffee staring at the little postcard sized picture in a frame propped by the coffee machine. The steam it let off brushed the glass and clouded the photo beneath. Jamie drank the first mug as he watched the steam fade away and the picture below it come back into view. Two pre-teen boys, in oversized t-shirts and basketball shorts, and an older teenage girl standing on the edge of a lake flanked by two adults. Mom on one side, laughing at whoever was behind the camera. The younger boy hid his face half in his hands, either preparing for a full body yawn or to try to squeeze the sun from his eyes. The older boy held all the mirth of a grin in a small smile, and had one arm thrown over Dad’s shoulders. Dad stooped a little to fit underneath, eyes pinned to the left as he looked over his brood with his mouth open - a humoured shout of ‘come on kids, behave yourself’. The girl had her hip popped, old enough to know her angles, and her arm around Mom’s waist. The sun teased through a gap between their faces and sun flare in the camera lens blurred a strip diagonally down the photograph.

Every morning Jamie waited for the steam to clear and their faces to emerge, and he looked them over as the last of his coffee went down. He put his hands to the machine again and got the second cup pouring. By the time he lifted the second mug he knew he wouldn’t look at the photo again until the next morning.

Jamie entered the main kitchen area that morning, like most mornings, not expecting anyone else to be there at that hour.

But someone was perched on a stool at the island and sleeping soundly with his head on the surface. Tyler. His arms pillowed his face against the cool of the marble countertop and his feet were slack against the stool rungs. He was still wearing his shoes and he was asleep, snoring gently into the space between his hands.

Jamie swallowed more coffee. He stayed still for a moment, watching, letting his eyes flit about to search out any more surprises.

No. Just Tyler.

Jamie didn’t know how he could have got in. Scratch that, he had a key, but how he got in without anyone hearing him and informing Jamie…that was a different question. Why he was there at all, and why he was asleep on the kitchen worktop, that was another.

Tyler’s phone lay by his side. He had twelve missed calls and 29 unread messages, Jamie noted. He didn’t know how not dealing with those notifications didn’t make Tyler anxious.

Jamie finished his coffee and placed the mug in the sink not too quietly. Tyler didn’t stir.

Jamie had two options here. Go and find out who the hell on security slept through Tyler’s arrival, or wake the guy up and ask him himself. He was interrupted by Jordie coming in mid-yawn in only his boxers. He scratched at his stomach and frowned at Tyler.

“Huh? When did he arrive?”

“I don’t know.”

Jordie gave Jamie a sly look.

“Did you expect him?”

“Not for another two days.”

“Well…I’ll leave you to it.”

Jordie filled up the largest breakfast bowl they owned with cereal and half a gallon of milk, then disappeared to the family room.

Jamie pulled out his phone from his pocket and called Tyler’s number. Tyler’s phone instantly began to buzz with an angry vibrate. Tyler’s head up came and he squinted at his phone.

“Wow. You really don’t like talking to people, do you? I’m right here.”

Tyler said all of this with his right eye scrunched close and his head to one side. Jamie was pretty sure Tyler could barely see him through his squinting left eye.

“Why are you drooling in my kitchen?”

“Couldn’t find a bed to sleep in.”

“My house isn’t a hotel.”

“I worked that out, so then I aimed for the couch, but I wanted to rest my eyes a minute.”

“Little more than a minute.”

“Yeah, a bit. I did the deal with St Louis, by the way.”

Jamie swallowed quickly and heavily enough that he nearly choked.

There was no way. There was no way that he’d sent the new guy on a dead-end task to test his mettle and Tyler came back with a win.

“The deal.”

“Yeah. I used up pretty much every good card I’d ever had with Tarasenko but hey. And FYI, Pietrangelo hopes you die soon. If you ever call him about the deal he’s going to…something about sticking up a hockey stick up your ass, I don’t know man. It was colourful. He really hates you. What did you do to him? Except for screw his Family into the ground, obviously.”

Jamie blinked. He really didn’t have the words, so he just let the silence drag on. They hadn’t done deals with St Louis since…well, since the innate hatred of St Louis had been passed on from generation to generation in his organisation. St Louis was there to be raided and riled. It was there to act as a buffer against their enemies to the north, a battering ram to open up the midwest. Dallas to them was a fucked up cousin to the south who tried to spoil their every party. The amount of property and bodily damage they’d done to each other over the years was legendary. They didn’t strike deals, they simply argued over the finer points of something they never intended to do until someone snapped and destroyed something, or someone, from the other Family. Last time, an insult was flung about the way things were run in Dallas during a meeting between Patrick Maroon and Alexander Ovechkin in Washington. Jamie had flown into a rage over it, though no-one could quite recall what exactly was said. He sent Klingberg, Radulov and a few Dallas goons to ransack Patrick Maroon’s prized brewery. The whole thing went up in flames and Jamie drank the last of Maroon’s vintage whiskey - the only surviving barrel of which Rads had loaded up before lighting the matches - and sent a message to Patrick to assure him he’d enjoyed every last drop.

Kind of petty, a lot of people outside the Family said, when they were definitely not in earshot of Jamie Benn himself. Funny though.

They’d been in a stalemate of not speaking to each other since then, St Louis too busy struggling with internal politics to retaliate for a while. Jamie had sent Tyler to St Louis fully expecting him to come back with a black eye and an excuse for Jamie to do something even more petty.

“They agreed,” said Jamie, finally matching to spit out some words.

“Yeah. I know you guys hate each other but hey, I guess the terms were good. I changed them a little bit, but figured you’d sign off.” Tyler’s eye were finally open. They looked at Jamie in that bright, wide way that sucked Jamie right in. “Give you both a break from plotting against each other. Right?”

Jamie couldn’t look at those eyes anymore. He leant back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms.

“You know I didn’t send you to St Louis to actually make a deal.”

“Yeah, I knew. But Taranseko likes me. And it’d be a good deal for both Families, make us both a lot of money. Their books are more red than black at the moment, they could do with the cash. And we could do with the product.”

“How do you know their books?” Jamie asked, strangled.

“Talk. Rumour, gossip, whatever you want to call it. Information. There’s a lot of it if you listen.”

Tyler winked and peeled himself away from the island.

“Anyway, I’d left my house key and my dog here, so I figured I’d come straight over when my flight landed.”

Jamie watched as Tyler padded barefoot around his kitchen sorting himself breakfast.

“Who let you in?”

“I did. Why, am I not allowed? You gave me a key, dude, if you didn’t want me walking in you’d better take it off me. By the way, where’s Marshall?”

Tyler whistled. Two sets of doggy paws began to clatter down the hallway.

“There he is! Hey buddy, hey Juice.”

The two dogs fawned for Tyler’s attention for a while, then were distracted with a dog biscuit each. They ran off with their treasure and Tyler turned to Jamie with three slices of toast in a stack slathered in peanut butter, that he’d somehow managed to assemble whilst doting on two dogs.

“Want one?”

Jamie had a breakfast routine that Tyler was in the middle of ruining. He ate a bowl of disgusting fibre cereal with dehydrated fruit on his own, in his office, in silence. He might be enticed out if Jordie told him he needed to socialise with his men but, really, his mornings were sacred.

He looked at the peanut butter sweating on the toast, then up at Tyler. His curls were trying to escape his head. He had a red line down his right cheek where he’d been resting on his hand, and he smelled like he hadn’t had a shower in a while. He looked happy.

“Sure.”

Tyler stuck the plate under Jamie’s nose and watched as his boss plucked a slice from the pile. Tyler pulled himself up onto the counter so that his jean clad ass was on the marble and his bare feet banged against the kitchen cupboard. He picked up his own slice and stuck most of it in his mouth in one bite.

“So. Did I do a good job, boss?”

“You’re incredible.”

Tyler went to laugh, like he’d taken that as sarcasm on reflex. He stopped when he saw the look Jamie was giving him. He recovered quickly.

“Uh…well, that’s what you hired me to do. You asked me to go and make a deal, I made it.”

Jamie had peanut butter running down his thumb, but he had a sudden desire to ask a question and he wasn’t going to get distracted.

“I have to go to a gala, after our LA trip. Dallas board of commerce invited me, and I need to shake some hands. Do you want to come with me?”

Tyler didn’t bother trying not to look surprised.

“We’ll go somewhere for dinner beforehand. These things never serve enough food.”

“Er…sure.”

“You got a suit?”

“Somewhere.”

“Not that one you wore to meet New York.”

“What’s wrong with that suit? Bergy hated that suit too. None of you have got any class.” Tyler licked a stripe of peanut butter off his toast and got most of it on his chin.

“Put your credit card to good use and go shopping. Take Klingberg, he knows a thing or two about suits.”

“Sure thing, sugar Daddy.”

He said it so lightly but the words made Jamie nearly choke. He wished Tyler wouldn’t joke like that.

“You’re part of my Family, can’t have you running around in your prom suit.” Jamie knew he was red. He laughed at his own joke to cover his embarrassment up.

“Fine, I’ll take Klinger shopping with me. What do you want me to do at the gala?”

“Keep me company. It’s a casino night, and there’s only so much money I can loose at the tables to try to avoid speaking to anyone.”

Tyler nodded, looked like he wanted to say something, then stopped. “Sure. No problem.”

Jamie finished his toast. “Thank you, for St Louis. You’re right, it was a good deal. I can’t believe you got Tarasenko to agree.”

“That’s my job. I’m good at it.”

“You are. And you’ve got peanut butter over half your face.”

He left Tyler trying to lick the offending smears off with his tongue.

He met Jordie in the hallway. His brother’s brow was so furrowed it nearly disappeared into his beard.

“Where the hell were you? You weren’t in your office, I thought you were _dead, _you’re never not in your office this time in the morning. Where’s your breakfast?”

“I had toast with Tyler.”

Jordie blinked back at his brother, not quite managing to hide the concern.

“Erm…ok. Is Tyler alright?”

“He did the deal with St Louis.” He couldn’t help but smile as Jordie mouth hinged open. “Yeah, I know. Can you ring Klingberg to come over as soon as he can? And call Nashville about the meeting next week, I’m not flying all that way for no good reason, Subban’s got to be less vague about what he wants to talk about. I’m off for a shower.”

Jordie snapped his mouth back shut. “Wow. Yeah, damn, I need a cold shower too. I think Tyler managing to do a deal with St Louis just gave me a hard on.”

“Jesus, Jordie.”

“I’m clearly not the only one.”

“Stop talking about erections, god,” Jamie muttered, shouldering past his brother and heading upstairs, glad that the hallway was dark enough to hide his flaming red face.


	11. Chapter 11

BOSTON

Mass General hospital had shit parking. It was what Brad heard every time someone new swung into the room: sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find a space, the parking is shit here.

It didn’t matter to Brad. The other men had shifts, but Brad was a constant. He hadn’t left in three days, he had no parking to worry about.

Tyler had a private room, and the staff were politely encouraged to not bother about how many people were in there with him at any given time. Ference and Lucic were posted outside the door and McQuaid was on parade rest inside the door, opening and shutting it as required. All three of them were armed.

Sometimes Brad would watch them, these stoic men who were unmoving for hours on end, locked in their own thoughts. He wished he could join them in the quiet, blank spaces that they inhabited, waiting to be told what to do. He wished he could disengage himself with this, this nightmare in front of him, from the sight of Tyler emaciated, stripped down to skin and bone on the bed in front of him. The IVs punctured his tattoos, the oxygen mask blurred his face, slack with drug induced sleep. He looked like a ghost haunting the room. Whenever a nurse had come in Brad asked the same question. Is he ok?

They gave him a variation of answers on the same theme: he’s doing as well as can be expected; we’re looking after him; the doctors will know more as time goes by.

Looch would occasionally try to get Brad up and moving. He let them press a coffee in his hand every couple of hours but refused any other attempts to bring some life into him, and none of the men enjoyed staying in the room too long.

“Where’s Patrice?” asked Brad around four in the morning on the third night, just after the nurse had checked Tyler’s vitals and assured Brad that no change was also good news.

“We don’t know,” said McQuaid. He was inside the room for the night. He’d been staring at Tyler for the past hour with an unreadable expression. Brad appreciated that there was finally someone in the Family actually looking at Tyler. That Brad wasn’t hallucinating him completely. “No-one’s seen him since...” Adam tried to find the right word for what happened and then just shrugged a shoulder, unable to come up with more than: “Since that night.”

Brad hadn’t seen Patrice since ‘that night’ either. That night, three weeks after the call from Eric Staal in Carolina. That night when Brad got a text from an unknown number.  
  


> _He’s alive.  
  
_

Followed by an address in Providence.

_Providence_. He’d been so close. Almost touching their state line, almost within their own Family territory. They hadn’t even tried to get him to Florida, as far as they could tell. Tyler had been right here all along, swinging between life and death and waiting to be useful or useless.

Had they got cold feet? Had they seen the might of the east coast Families that tore up North America looking for a guy that meant the world to the Boston Family and decided that they were up against more than they thought? Or had their own pride eaten itself up and they’d abandoned the plan? Had they argued with each other over whether this was the best move?

They were the questions they’d all been asking, and the questions the other Families had lobbed at them over the last few days, but they just didn’t seem important now. They were questions for when Brad had his head together, for when Tyler was awake, for when their Captain was back home.

Patrice had gone to find Tyler after that text. Brad had watched him lift Tyler up off the side of the road where they’d dumped him. He’d put him in the back of Brad’s car and told Peverley to drive, fast. He’d been there when they’d wheeled him in through the ER doors. Then he had disappeared.

Brad was broken out of his endless reverie by a haggard looking Pevs leaning his head into the room to whisper ‘Marchy, Marchy, it’s Chara.’

Brad lobbed the last of his takeaway coffee mugs into the trash and tried to straighten his clothes. Lucic opened the door and Zdeno Chara entered, wearing a golf shirt and slacks. That had to mean it was morning, though Brad hadn’t noticed the night slip away. Chara smoothed a hand over his shirt and gave Brad an oddly comforting smile. He’d dropped the kids off that morning and the country club would be hearing Chara’s stories of his wild childhood back in Slovakia that afternoon. But for now, his eyes were on Brad, and then they were on Tyler. McQuaid stepped out of the room in a smooth motion, leaving his post for the first time in hours.

Brad was more than a little surprised to see his boss holding an enormous bunch of flowers, which Chara didn’t fail to notice.

“They’re from Tatiana. She insisted.”

He lay the flowers from his wife down on a side table that the nurses had recently used to prep more vials for Tyler’s IV.

“She sends her prayers. She is really worried about him.”

Chara lowered himself into a chair. Like every other chair it looked comically small under his six foot seven frame. Brad waited until he was seated before sitting down too.

“So, he’s out of the ICU.”

“They thought he’d be better here. They said he is out of the woods.”

“That’s good.”

“They don’t know what it’s going to be like when he wakes up.”

“I talked to the police department, their lab says it was a drug called salvia. I made sure the doctors here know that.”

“What is it?”

Zdeno looked at Tyler as he spoke. “It’s a hallucinogenic drug, a little like opium. It gives you an altered state of consciousness. It’s not particularly harmful on its own, but they can’t say for sure what it does with repeated abuse, and in the amounts they gave him.”

“Why would they give that to him?”

“It is a strange choice. If they wanted to mess with his mind over a long period of time, why not something a little more easy to get hold of? Crack, opium, even rohypnol.”

“I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Exactly. It would be complicated to source and to get into the right state to give to him. There’s plenty of easier drugs.”

“Maybe they were making a point.”

Chara’s eyes cut to Brad. “They were certainly making a point. They made a point the minute they targeted someone from this Family but didn’t gun them down in the street.” Brad heard Chara finish the sentence under his breath: ‘Like the old days’.

They sat in silence for a while longer, Chara seemingly happy to watch Tyler breathe and think his own thoughts. Brad felt a wave of nausea come over him. His brain suddenly splintered like fragile glass, and then adrenaline kicked in and everything came sharply back into focus.

“You look tired, Brad.”

Chara was looking at him now, and Brad knew he’d seen the moment he’d almost fallen off his chair in exhaustion. He couldn’t remember Zdeno Chara ever calling him ‘Brad’ before. He’d always been ‘Marchand’, or else just that nameless guy in Patrice’s shadow, following along behind and doing as he was told.

“It’s been a long night.”

“It’s been almost three days. You should go home, get some rest. He’s going to be ok.”

Brad hoped that Chara wouldn’t make that a direct order. Patrice may run the Family now as Captain, but Chara still occupied that rather old fashioned and dated role as Head. If Chara came in and told them to jump, they were still expected to ask how high.

Instead Brad just mumbled a noise he hoped Chara would take as an affirmative, and stood up when he rose. They shook hands, then Chara placed one hand on Tyler’s arm and said something briefly in Slovak. He pulled away and left Brad alone with Tyler.

McQuaid came back in once Chara had cleared the building.

“Chara told me to take you home.”

“I’m fine, honestly. I’ll just try to have a nap.”

“What, in that plastic chair? No way. Come on Brad, I’ll take you back. You can sleep in your own bed for once and come back later.”

“But-”

“We won’t leave Tyler alone. Pevs and Looch will sit with him today and tonight, I’ll take over from them first thing in the morning. If you’re up, you can come too, but until then you’re getting some proper rest.”

Brad was too tired to put up anymore of a fight. He collected his jacket and his phone and let McQuaid lead him down to the parking garage and drive him home. He fell asleep the minute the engine switched on and only woke up briefly to be manhandled into bed. He woke up almost 12 hours later to bright morning sunshine and a mug of steaming coffee on his bedside table.

Downstairs, in Patrice’s kitchen, Rich was reading the newspaper at the kitchen counter.

“Morning.”

“Everything ok?”

“Left Tyler about 6am to Ference and McQuaid. In the night a nurse thought his eye was looking bad, so they’ve covered it and given him antibiotics.”

“I knew something would happen the minute I left.”

“It’s just a minor infection, they’ve caught it early.”

“Heard anything from Patrice?”

Pevs shook his head. “Did you ask Chara?”

“No.”

He was too much of a coward.

“He’ll come up for air some time, Marchy. He’s got to. And he’ll want to see Tyler.”

“Will he?” Brad snapped. Pevs lowered his paper and sighed.

“I’m sure he will.”

“Then why the hell isn’t he here? I don’t try to guess what the hell those two are to each other, but at the very least he’s Tyler’s Captain. He’s _our _Captain. Florida kidnapped one of our guys and he’s, what, off on his own solo revenge mission?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Pevs said quietly.

No, Brad thought. That was the problem. No-one knew what to do in this situation and the only one who could lead them was god knows where.


	12. Chapter 12

DALLAS

If there was one thing Tyler knew, it was that whenever something went good for him there tended to be a backlash from the universe in another way. And after a hot streak of success at work, of getting along with Jamie, of feeling more and more at home in Dallas, he felt the hammer ready to drop. 

It came in the form of insomnia, three nights in a row of nothing more than a half hour doze to keep him sane. On the fourth night he fell into a screaming blackness that apparently counted as sleep, and when he woke up he was shaking so violently it was making Marshall whine. He was screwed up and soaked with sweat amongst his sheets. He lay there gasping until his breath came back. There was blood in the palm of his hands. He patched himself up as best he could with shaking hands and lay on the couch until the sun came up. He took his pills in the kitchen, made a coffee with still trembling hands and let Marshall out to do his business. Tyler picked up his phone and called Dobby for a ride to the house. He didn’t trust himself to drive.

The Benn home was oddly empty. Even Dobby disappeared as soon as he dropped him off, muttering eagerly about Starbucks. Tyler trailed through an empty kitchen and went to Jamie’s office. That was empty too. He ended up on the couch with the remote in hand. For some reason it felt better than lying on his one at home.

Eventually there was a creak on the stairs and Jamie appeared.

“Oh, hi Tyler. When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago,” Tyler said, not taking his eyes off a rerun of One Tree Hill. “Where were you? You weren’t in your office.”

“Difficult phone call.”

“Work?”

“No, actual family.”

Jamie took up a place close to Tyler on the couch, close enough that Tyler glanced over questioningly. Jamie didn’t look back and settled on watching what was on the screen. He smelt distractingly like his mint shower gel and his hair was damp. Tyler buried himself further into the couch cushions. He was in no state to be quietly lusting over his Captain. Maybe lusting wasn’t the right word. Pining.

The last time Tyler had pined he’d been thirteen. There was a girl with beautiful hair down to her butt and these great big green eyes. Melissa. She was the older sister of one of his friends and his first proper crush. He had pined after her for months, couldn’t get enough of her enthusiastic laugh or the smell of her perfume. It had driven him insane. Eventually she got a boyfriend and he was devastated. But he was thirteen, and like any thirteen year old boy his hormones had a mind of their own. He moved on pretty quickly and found other girls to like. But he never pined like that again. He never pined over the people who made up the most important relationships in his life, certainly not Patrice. He’d just been horny and turned on by Patrice’s big hands and his goddamn impressive nose and the way he was so nice to everyone whilst also being murderous and one of the most intelligent Family men Tyler had ever met. So Tyler had gone to his apartment one night and suggested that they try fooling around. Patrice had just laughed, not unkindly, and told him not to proposition his superiors. Then they fooled around. It developed from there. There’d been no time to pine.

With Jamie, he could feel those uncomfortable stirrings he’d had with Melissa. The constant awareness of him in his peripheral vision. The need to pinpoint him in a room before anyone or anything else. His thoughts wandered relentlessly to what Jamie was thinking, feeling, eating, doing. He wanted to hear him laugh. He could watch him for hours do nothing.

So Tyler tucked his nose inside his shirt to avoid the smell of the mint rolling off him and tried to focus on the show.

“You OK?”

“My nose is cold.”

“No, I mean…you don’t look so good.”

Tyler let the shirt fall off his nose and sighed. “Not a good few days.”

“You need something from Bish?”

“No, I’ve got all the drugs I need. I just need to wait for my brain to fix itself.”

Jamie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well my body’s pretty much back to normal, I guess. My head’s still working on it. I’m hoping eventually I just get over it.”

“I don’t think that’s how getting over something works. You can’t just wait and expect it to happen.”

“Why not?”

Jamie shook his head with what looked like disbelief, but he was smiling.

“Tyler, you really think people just get over stuff that happens to them after a bit of time? That you just wait, and it happens eventually?”

Tyler didn’t see why not. All the shit he’d seen in his life eventually just sluiced off him. He was sure it did. He’d seen people die, had even had a hand in a number of those deaths. He’d known that men above him held his life in the palm of their hand and then watched them throw it away. He’d been beaten up and exploited and taken advantage of, and he’d seen others go through the same thing. But he was pretty sure there were people out who had it worse, who had real problems. Sure he struggled sometimes, but eventually he would just forget about everything, right?

Jamie laughed out loud. “Seriously Seggy, if you believe you don’t hang on to all the things that have happened to you, you’re delusional.”

“Who are you, Oprah? Look as long as I get back to being able to sleep at night, I don’t care.”

Jamie put his feet up on the coffee table. They were bare, and Tyler took a little too long to watch his toes scrunch up against the cool living room air. Another waft of mint came his way as Jamie moved. He tucked his nose into his shirt again.

“You tryna tell me my feet stink or something?”

Tyler laughed through his shirt. “No, I’m not. Believe me, I’d tell you if you stank. Like I’m telling you your hair is shit.”

Jamie just smiled at the now familiar insult. He ran a hand through his wet hair and it fell about everywhere across his head. It actually didn’t look shit like that, all natural and free of product. When he gelled the crap out of it, that was when it looked shit. Tyler liked it either way.

Jamie grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over the both of them. Tyler tucked himself under it.

“Thanks.”

“You looked cold.”

Tyler was shivering, but it was exhaustion, not a chill. But he did like the feeling of Jamie’s no doubt expensive throw wrapping him up. He could feel Jamie moving around on the couch a bit, dipping the cushion between them enough that he tipped in his direction. When Jamie eventually settled he was even closer. He could feel the heat of his shower off him.

“Where’s Jordie?” Tyler asked.

“No idea.”

“Look I was thinking, maybe Jordie and I should go over to San Jose in the next few weeks. They’re managing that merchandise from Carolina and I thought-”

“Can we not talk about work? Just…not right now.”

“When do you ever not want to talk about work?”

“Not in the mood,” Jamie said with a shrug. Tyler sighed and burrowed back down in the blanket.

“Fine. I also had an idea about your call with McDavid later, guess you don’t want to hear that either.”

“Nope.”

“What _do _you want to talk about?”

“I thought we were watching TV.”

Tyler felt flustered all of a sudden. “Well, yeah, but then you came and sat down and I thought you’d want to talk.”

You came and sat down _right _next to me, he wanted to say. And he wanted to ask why, when Jamie owned a couch that could probably take a full hockey team.

“What made you think I wanted to talk?”

“I don’t know, maybe you speaking to me?”

“Shut up Tyler,” Jamie said, without any heat, and a little smile at the corner of his mouth. “Shut up and watch TV.”

So Tyler did. And the warmth of Jamie basically pressed up against him, the sound of Jamie’s even, soft breathing along his side, the weight of the blanket, the quiet of the house, the senseless drone of the TV, all of it sent him to sleep within minutes.

* * *

Tyler woke up face planted into the couch. His eyelashes scratched against the material of the cushion for a second as he gathered his senses. Someone was speaking in Swedish somewhere near his head. He reared up and blinked at Klinger, who he’d surprised mid-sentence.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

“I’ve been asleep all day?”

“I came in here at two and you and Jamie were sleeping on the couch. I woke him up, because he had his call with McDavid, but he told me to sit here with you.”

John smirked.

“What?”

“Nice hair.”

Tyler didn’t care. He’d enjoyed growing out his hair since he left Boston. His hair was a curly mess whenever he woke up and he kind of liked it. He also kind of got the feeling Jamie liked it, what with the way he’d been very obviously staring that morning he’d got back from St Louis.

“Is he on the call now?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn it. I was going to tell him something that might help.”

Jamie and Jordie appeared right then, strung out and exhausted.

“Like the hair,” Jordie said to Tyler, the minute he came through into the kitchen area.

“Fuck off. How was the call?”

Jamie threw his phone down on the counter and shook his head.

“I can’t decide if he’s an ass or a genius.”

“He’s a fruitcake, is what he is,” Jordie supplied. He grabbed an armful of beers from the fridge and started handing them out. Spezza had been on the call too and he snatched the beer gratefully. Klingberg and Janmark pulled up a chair as the rest of the bottles got passed around. Tyler creaked over the kitchen island and took a stool next to Jamie. He still felt groggy, but the sleep had done him a world of good. He still turned away a beer when it was offered. He hadn’t swallowed anything substantial except pills all day.

“I picked up the phone and he was _already_ talking. And he didn’t stop. Whenever I tried to butt in he just talked louder. When he decided I had to talk he stayed totally silent until I said something.”

Tyler couldn’t help his smile. “That’s just what Connor’s like. But he’s worse with people he doesn’t know. Or doesn’t like. He does it face to face too, that’s when it can get difficult.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Jamie grumbled.

“How many times have you met him in person?”

“Five, six times maybe. Mostly at talks in Colorado. And I got stuck with him in a room at Jagr’s funeral.”

Tyler felt himself rock slightly in the chair. He’d forgotten Jagr had died. Maybe he should be worried by this level of memory loss.

“He was standing there by the buffet just staring at some cold meat. I didn’t realise he was there ’til Eric Staal moved out of the way. Looking back I think the guy was fleeing from being stuck alone with Connor, and then I ended up in his place.”

The whole room was laughing already. Jamie was rising to it, his face animated and his body shaking with barely contained laughter. How this man with such a murderous expression and that ability to shut people out could turn around and be this bright, outward guy who laughed himself breathless…Tyler didn’t know.

“And I can’t leave, ‘cos he’s spotted me, he’s looking right at me. He’s about a foot away from me, _staring_. I ask him what he thought of the service, I don’t know what else to talk about at a goddamn funeral. And he just starts talking about something else. I think it was about something Toronto had agreed with Washington. He just launches into it. Like, Jesus dude, I asked you something completely different.”

“And everyone calls Crosby intense.”

“He’s got nothing on this guy. He talks _at _me for like ten minutes. He doesn’t touch any of the food, but I don’t want to turn around and look right at him because his face is like…” Jamie does something with his eyes to replicate McDavid’s stare, and the guys crease up even more. “He’s doing that at me, I can’t turn and look at him straight on. So I just keep piling food on my plate. He doesn’t stop talking until he sees someone else across the room. He just stops mid conversation, like mid _word_, and then he’s _gone_. And I’m left standing there with ten pounds of cold meat on my plate and this huge pile of potato salad.”

“Who did he go and talk to?”

“It was Ovechkin. You should have seen Ovi’s face when Connor started walking towards him. The guy looked like he wanted to throw himself out the window.”

“I’m surprised Nicke didn’t intervene.”

“He wasn’t in the room, just Kuznetsov. Kuzy chickened out and left before Connor got there. I’m sure Ovi gave him hell about it afterwards. I’ve seen Ovi in a shoot out before, and he looked less nervous than watching Connor McDavid come across the room towards him.”

When the laughter died down Klingberg had a question.

“Why was he even invited to Jagr’s funeral anyway?”

“You must have heard what that thing was like. Even the Colorado summits haven’t brought together that many bosses before. It was a good chance to get together. And Connor was a new boss. He needed introducing,”

“It’s amazing no-one was murdered at that funeral.”

“Almost. Remember Florida, at the service?”

The whole room collectively grumbled in agreement. Except for Tyler, who was picking at his knuckles. When he looked up Jamie was looking right at him. Tyler didn’t remember, and Jamie knew it.

“There were so many of them at the church,” Jordie said.

“There were _loads _of them,” Spezza agreed. “I don’t know how that happened. No-one looked happy about it but they couldn’t exactly kick them out.”

“They took up three pews to themselves. I think I saw like ten guys from Miami, even more from Tampa. And that was just the ones that were inside, they had another group outside casing the joint,” Marc said.

“That was the problem. One Family has too many guys there and the others start to get nervous. They should’ve limited the numbers of each Family, like they do in the Colorado meetings.”

“They only went to cause trouble. Everyone knew it.”

Something floated briefly to the front of Tyler’s mind. Sitting in a pew in a vast church, uncomfortable in a suit and not knowing where to put his hands. Patrice solid beside him. They were on a row with some guys from LA and he didn’t know them, so he was trying to lean away.

Tyler remembered Florida being there. He remembered standing just before the coffin was brought in. In front of him he could see the beads of sweat roll down the back of Ryan O’Reilly’s neck. He’d looked across to his left to try to make out who he knew from the Families on the other side of the church, and spotted Nikita Kucherov standing in the middle of a pack of Florida men. Tyler Johnson on his right, Aleksander Barkov on his left. Kucherov was smiling to himself, staring straight ahead. Kucherov must have felt eyes on him, because he glanced over in Tyler’s direction. Their eyes met. And Nikita had winked.

“It was the wake that was the worst. They were like a small army, pushing everyone around. Kucherov was antagonising everyone in Russian. I thought Ovechkin was going to take him out.”

“Kopitar had words with Stamkos,” Jordie chimed in. “I stepped out of the wake for a bit and they were yelling at each other on the driveway. Doughty was with him but Stamkos was on his own. I thought, if I see something go down here and these two murder him, I’m not saying a thing.”

“Were you in the fight?” Klingberg asked Tyler. He didn’t know what to say, but Jamie stepped in.

“We all were.”

“The FBI creamed themselves over that,” Jordie sighed. “They told the local police not to step in no matter what calls they got to that address. They were hoping we’d all kill each other, do their job for them.”

“What happened?” John asked eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

“What do you think? It was a mess. I don’t even know who were fighting, it was just a free for all. No guns, thank god, Jagr’s family had made sure we had nothing on us. It’s amazing no-one had snuck in a knife.”

“All I remember is that Florida started it. They definitely, definitely started it.”

Radulov piped up. “Someone told me it was Hedman. He said something to Sid and Sid swung at him.”

“What the hell? Mr Diplomatic?”

Radulov shrugged. “That’s what Kuzy told me. Once Sid hit Hedman, Florida jumped in. Pittsburgh went to defend Sid. No-one heard what Victor said.”

Jordie shook his head, a little rueful smile on his lips. “All I remember is standing on the back porch and suddenly a bottle goes right past my ear. I threw one back and the rest just kind of happened.”

Klingberg grinned. “Ah man, sounds fun. I wish I was there.”

Jamie shook his head. “Just Florida being Florida.” He caught Tyler’s eye again. “Some people enjoy that kind of thing though, I guess.”

* * *

Tyler heard the ruckus before he saw it. Patrice noticed it too and snatched at the back of his jacket in a desperate attempt to keep him out of it. It was like trying to keep a moth from a flame. Tyler was kind of drunk and way too hot, and a day of boredom and good behaviour had built up in him like a pent up rage. He needed to let it out. He left his jacket dangling from Patrice’s clenched fingers. He didn’t pretend that he knew who he was fighting, only that it was mostly Florida and all he had was his fists. Someone got glassed next to him and he saw a slap of blood hit the tarmac beneath them. As the crowd moved a little he saw it was Carey Price holding the bottle neck in his fist, his typically serene face a picture of pure anger.

A woman started to howl and swear furiously inside the house above the noise of twenty guys punching the shit out of each other. Tyler was pretty sure she was encouraging the crowd to kill someone. 

Something hit Tyler across the back of the head, a smart sting, and he turned wildly to swing back. Patrice was already there and dumped the guy - Vasilevsky - to the ground.

“Fuck this shit, fuck this shit!” someone hollered, someone with an accent.

He was looking for his next target when Tyler Johnson burst out of the wall of bodies right at him. His punch was so strong it nearly dislodged a tooth. Tyler went down to a crouch, but instead of falling to his knees he used the momentum to launch at Johnson. He took him to the floor in a pile drive, aiming for the guy’s face the second they were on the tarmac. Johnson sprayed blood from between his teeth and Tyler felt it spatter warm across his face. He saw Johnson grab the rock before he could react. It crunched into the side of Tyler’s head and he immediately saw stars. He couldn’t get his body to react in time before Johnson shoved him backwards. He went onto the ground with a thump, stunned. His thin shirt did nothing to protect him from the layer of gravel over the paved driveway eating up his skin. Johnson’s hand went to his throat and Tyler’s brain kicked back to life. He tried to wrestle him away but Johnson was stronger and in a better position. He lashed out at Tyler’s face a few times for good measure and a dangerous darkness appeared at the edge of Tyler’s vision.

Out of nowhere Johnson’s head snapped to the side and hands came down, grabbed him by the neck and hauled him away. The guy, Tyler couldn’t see who through his haze, sucker punched Johnson in the jaw and shoved him back into the crowd. He didn’t come back out.

Tyler blinked up at his saviour, dazed. He extended a hand down and Tyler took it. Once he was on his feet the man’s face was more familiar. It was the same guy from the wedding, from Dallas. Tyler had put together his name over the weeks: Jamie Benn. 

“You’re always around where there’s a fight,” Jamie said. He had a pretty smile.

“I attract them,” Tyler said, blinking away the cobwebs.

“You ok?”

“Yeah. What the hell is even going on?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going back in there.”

The fight ate itself up, eventually. The men from Tampa and Miami were uniformly evicted from the premises, and they went off into the night hissing insults over their shoulders.

The wake picked up again where it had left off, with Jaromir’s family and friends closed up in a separate room in the palatial Jagr home. The rest of the deceased man’s associates prowled through the house dissecting Florida’s behaviour. No-one had been seriously injured, but there were plenty of wounds to stem and bruises to cool. Tyler found Patrice with a napkin stuffed with ice over one eye.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. You?”

Tyler had thrown up on his way back into the house. He was pretty sure he had a concussion.

“I’m fine. You sure your eye’s ok? Do you need Tuukka?” He knew Patrice had a dodgy eye socket after shattering his cheekbone in his teens. He didn’t like to think of what extra punches did to an injury like that.

“Who do you think put this on me?” Patrice asked, gesturing with the napkin. His eye was bright purple underneath it and fused shut. “Don’t fuss.”

Patrice hated fuss. He slipped a hand onto Tyler’s cheek. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, why?”

“‘Cos your eyes aren’t blinking at the same time as each other.”

“Please don’t tell Tuukka I have a concussion, I don’t want him to yell at me.”

That made Patrice smile, which aggravated his eye, so he quashed it and settled for kissing Tyler on the forehead. “If you fall over, I’m telling Tuukka. Just try to stay standing for the rest of the wake.”

“When can we go? I’m bored.”

“When it’s polite to go, we will.”

“We just had a major fight in Jagr’s driveway. I think we’re past politeness.”

“Tyler,” Patrice said on a sigh, though it was an affectionate one. “Sometimes you’ve got to learn that the _way_ you do things is important. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense or not.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard _that_?

“OK. Well I’m going to go and get drunk with Hallsy. He’s probably sick of babysitting Connor.”

“Tyler, don’t drink when you’ve got a head injury.”

“Love you,” Tyler said, giving Patrice his best shit-eating grin and kissing him with a loud smack on the uninjured side of his face. Patrice tried to call after him, but Tyler was done listening. Sometimes doing the right thing was a pain in the ass, and sometimes a small part of Tyler - very small, but there nonetheless - wished Boston didn’t have such a stick up its ass about this sort of thing. If things were different, maybe Tyler wouldn’t feel so stifled all the time.

Tyler couldn’t find Taylor anywhere. He meandered around a bit, lost and a little confused. He couldn’t remember his way back to the dining room. Maybe the concussion was more serious than he thought. He bumped into Jamie again, in the grand hallway. The Dallas man was sat on a small ornate chair that looked way too small under his frame, drinking a bottle of water. He had an impressive split lip that was becoming part of a nastily swollen face.

“Looks like you had fun,” Tyler said. There was another small chair opposite Jamie. It had a high back and ornately carved arms. It looked like something out a bad medieval soap opera. Jagr’s house wasn’t to Tyler’s taste, but it sure was impressive. He sat himself down in the other chair and rubbed at the dragon carvings on the arms.

“Yeah,” Jamie laughed. He lifted a wad of paper towels to his lip. “What a night.”

“I think it’s a sign you’ve made it in this world if there’s a fight at your funeral.”

“It’s a shame Jagr’s not here to see it. He would have loved it.”

“He really would have. Thanks, by the way, for earlier. I think Johnson may have actually wanted to kill me.”

“No problem. Can’t have someone dying in the middle of a good fight.”

“Yeah, really brings the tone down.”

They grinned at one another.

“Why did Johnson single you out so much?”

“Oh, I was down in Florida a while ago. Paul Bissonnette and I trashed their bar. Got into a fight.”

“Why?”

“Boston wanted to show them whose boss. They were not turning up to talks, doing deals behind our back.”

“Same story in Dallas. Morrow keeps going on about sanctioning them. But their business is too good. We need them.”

Tyler’s neck was starting to hurt against the high back of the chair, so he leant his head sideways against the cool wall of the hallway. He felt woozy for a second. Jamie nudged his foot with his own.

“Hey. You with me?”

“Er, yeah. Sorry. I’m tired.”

“You shouldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“One of your pupils is way bigger than the other. You’ve got a concussion.”

Tyler smiled sleepily. “I’m used to them.”

Jamie just frowned at that.

“So how is Dallas doing?” Tyler asked, not wanting the conversation to linger on his messed up head.

“Good,” Jamie said, with a shrug. “You know. Business as usual.”

“I think Patrice is going down there to talk to Morrow next week.”

“Yeah. Something about LA.”

Tyler closed his eyes for a second, and this time Jamie nudged him harder.

“Hey. I’m serious. Don’t sleep on a concussion. If you die right here it’ll start an incident.”

“I don’t think anyone could accuse you of anything Jamie Benn,” Tyler said. He wasn’t sure at what point he’d learnt Jamie’s last name. “You look too innocent. But I bet looks can be deceiving.”

“Oh really?” Jamie asked. He was laughing, but his eyes said something else. That was what Tyler was trying to read. Maybe it was the concussion or maybe it was just Jamie Benn, but Tyler liked a challenge.

“Yeah. You seem like a sweet guy. But there’s a reason you work for Dallas. You guys can be cutthroat. You’re not sweet all the way through.”

Tyler must have slipped away for longer because this time Jamie’s hand was on his knee shaking him.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s fine. I’m fine. Hey, do you know what will help? Sex. Let’s go do that, that’ll keep me awake.”

Tyler wasn’t sure what he was babbling about. Sex would keep him awake, that was for sure, but he was also pretty certain that Patrice wouldn’t be happy about him shacking up with a guy from Dallas. In one of Jagr’s spare bedrooms. With Patrice right downstairs. At Jagr’s wake. With a head injury.

He didn’t know if it was the expanding bruising or what, but Jamie’s face had gone red from ear to ear.

“Tyler we’re not having sex. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a serious concussion. Did Tuukka come with you guys?”

“Don’t tell Tuukka. I have to tell him who the president is. I hate that test. Who is the president again? I don’t know, dude, I’m Canadian, how am I supposed to know stuff like that?”

“Come on, lets get you up.”

Tyler felt Jamie lift him up off the chair with his hands under his armpits, but his body didn’t seem to be cooperating. God his head hurt.

“Yeah. OK. Ow. Let’s find Tuukka.”

“You’ve got at least try to walk, I’m not carrying you.”

“Hey Jamie,” Tyler said, managing to find his feet and gaining his balance. Jamie kept a hand on his arm as he wobbled upright. Jamie’s face - his damaged but pretty face with the big wide doe eyes - was inches from Tyler’s own.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever think what your life would be like if you worked in a different Family?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…like you thought your whole life you were supposed to do one thing. And then you start to think maybe it’s _not _your whole life. You’re doing the wrong thing.”

Jamie blinked. He opened his mouth to say something then stopped. “Er, I don’t know. I don’t know Tyler. Come on, let’s find Tuukka.”

Tyler felt a little better walking. It made his neck hurt, but he didn’t feel so sleepy.

“Hey Tuukks,” he announced loudly when Jamie found Finnish compatriots Rask and Kari Lehtonen talking in what was once Jagr’s office.

“For god’s sake,” was Tuukka’s response. “What happened to him?”

“Tyler Johnson smacked him in the head with a rock. And now he’s talking nonsense and his eyes are funny.”

Tuukka sighed. Lethtonen looked amused.

“You nursing the walking wounded Jamie?”

“I didn’t want him to die on me.”

Tuukka peeled Tyler off Jamie’s side and lowered him into a chair.

“Don’t ask me who the president is ‘cos I don’t fucking know,” Tyler told Tuukka, who had crouched down in front of him. He thought that might make him laugh, but it didn’t.

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“It’s Saturday. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What fingers?”

Tuukka stood up. “OK, this is beyond my capabilities. I’m taking you to the ER.”

Lehtonen jerked a thumb toward the door. “Want me to find Patrice?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Lehtonen headed off and left the trio to it. Jamie realised with a little jump of his heart that Tuukka Rask was standing very close to him. He had a frighteningly shrewd look on his face.

“You need stitches in your lip.”

“It’s fine.”

“It won’t heal without stitches. Get Kari to do it. He’s good enough at his job, I suppose.”

Jamie thought it was a joke, but Tuukka didn’t laugh.

“OK. Will do.”

They stood looking at other for a long, awkward moment.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Tuukka asked.

“Oh, no. Sorry. I just…if he’s with you he’s fine.”

“Yes. He is.”

Jamie turned around and high-tailed it out of there. Tyler tried to go after him but Tuukka kept him in his chair pretty easily.

“He’s hot. Don’t you think, Tuukka? Jamie Benn is hot.”

“My god you really are concussed.”

“That’s not the concussion talking. That’s my dick talking.”

“Please don’t _point out_ your dick Tyler, I know where it is. You’re going to regret saying this to me in the morning. And what did you say to Jamie?”

“I wasn’t leaking Family secrets, if that’s what you mean. I’m better than that. Even when I’m concussed.”

“Thank god he’s just some foot soldier.”

“He’s smart that guy. He’s going to go places. Everyone thinks he’s a big dummy but he’s got a good brain.”

Tuukka didn’t reply, too busy on his phone.

“Hey Tuukka?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever wondered what your life would be like if you worked at a different Family?”

That brought Tuukka’s attention back. “No. Why?”

“Like, you never thought about things being different if you didn’t work for Boston?”

“Of course things would be different. But I don’t ever think about it because it’s not going to happen. I belong in Boston. We belong in Boston, Tyler.”

“Huh.”

The rest of the night was a blur. He was hauled into a cab by Tuukka, who along with Krejci checked him into the nearest ER. They flew back with him the following evening when he’d been given the all clear, and the rest of Boston were long home. He didn’t remember much of that night in the following weeks, except that he’d probably talked nonsense to that guy Jamie from Dallas. There was enough in the rumour mill about him. He didn’t need someone from Dallas adding to it. But he got the feeling, and he wasn’t sure why, that Jamie would keep his mouth shut.


	13. Chapter 13

BOSTON

The hospital discharged Tyler two weeks after he’d been admitted. It was earlier than what the doctors would’ve liked, but they stopped questioning it when Tuukka signed the papers. From the minute he stepped through the door of Patrice’s home Tyler was in Tuukka’s care. Brad would have been happy to leave him alone to do what he needed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his friend’s side. So he became Tuukka’s vastly under-qualified assistant.

“You don’t have to stay up,” Tuukka pointedly told Brad, who was trying to help him find the right size of bandage in his kit. It was the fourth night since Tyler had been discharged, and the house was stuck in a protracted, tense silence. On the day they brought him home Tuukka had set his patient up in Patrice’s suite. They were still there, living like invading spirits in the room of a man who had become a ghost himself. Tyler himself was drugged to the eyeballs and asleep in the middle of Patrice’s bed, head buried in the pillows so far he could barely be seen. Brad gave up with the bandage search and passed the bag to Tuukka. As a replacement for something to do with his hands he fidgeted with Tyler’s blankets one more time and checked his phone.

“No. It’s fine. I think everyone else is dealing with things that I’m meant to.”

“You wouldn’t be doing a good job Brad, not right now.”

Brad sighed. “Yeah, I get that. I just want to know what we’re doing about this, you know? What does Patrice want us to do? What is he doing right now?”

Tuukka pulled out the right sized bandage and went to work pasting it over the wound in the back of Tyler’s hand.

“He’ll be doing what he needs to do. Don’t worry about him.”

“Worry about him? Jesus Tuukka, he might be going on a solo mission to kill everyone in the Florida Families. He could already be dead trying. Why isn’t he telling us what we should be doing? All of the Families in North America are wondering what the hell is going on, whether this means Florida is after us all. We haven’t even started to work that out. They took one of our guys and kept him for three weeks, they nearly goddamn killed him, and we’re supposed to just sit here and do nothing?”

When he finished he realised Tuukka was glaring across the bed at him.

“Firstly,” Tuukka said, icily quiet. “Stop yelling. He’s sleeping and he needs to rest. Secondly, we _are_ doing something. We’re looking after Tyler. And when we know more, we will make a plan. There is no point running into things and getting everyone killed.”

Brad nodded, admonished.

“Do we even know for sure that it’s Florida?”

“Face it, Tuuks. Every other Family has offered us some help or condolences or been worried they’ll be targeted next. Chara directly requested help from Florida. They did nothing. No word from Stamkos, from Luongo, Kucherov, from any of them. Whatever this plan was, it sure as hell came from Florida.”

“What were they planning?”

“We don’t know. I’ve talked to as many people as I can, and they all say the same thing. Florida were getting more and more aggressive and difficult to deal with for months. The day Tyler went missing, they disappeared.”

“So we think that was supposed to start something bigger?”

“Everything points to it. And then, for whatever reason, they chickened out.”

The security bell rang through the house. Brad waited for the sound of someone answering it, and then the familiar soft click of the front door. Another solider let in to swell the ranks. They’d been on high alert even after Tyler had been returned, none of them knowing what was going to happen next. The constant anxiety coursing though the Family was exhausting.

Tyler mumbled something and Brad squeezed his wrist.

“Hey, Tyler. You ok?”

“No. Don’t.”

“Tyler it’s alright. You’re back at home.”

Tyler’s good eye opened and picked Brad out at the edge of his bed. It was clear he could see his old friend, but couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

“Where’s Patrice?”

“He’s out. Sure he’ll be back soon.” Brad had barely finished speaking before Tyler threw a hand up and pressed it with surprising force against the shell of his ear.

“What’s that _noise_?”

“What noise?”

“Yelling. Whose yelling?”

“No-one, Tyler. Is your head hurting?”

“Tell them to shut up. Jesus.”

Tyler moved his hand to scratch at the bandage over his eye. Tuukka stood and firmly but gently pulled his hand away.

“Hi Tyler. How you feeling?”

Brad watched Tuukka painfully pick through the same process he did every day. He asked the same questions, did the same tests, and tried to tease out exactly where Tyler’s head was at.

“Where’s Patrice?”

“He’s out.”

“You always say he’s out. Where is he?”

Brad and Tuukka exchanged a look that Tyler didn’t see.

“It’s busy at the moment, Tyler. They want to find out what happened to you.”

Tyler seemed to ponder that for a long time as Tuukka changed the bandage on his eye, his working eye cast down to the covers where his hands lay lifeless against the blankets.

“Tyler?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

It took him a long time to reply, and when he did his voice sounded as small as he looked. “I’m tired.”

Tuukka pasted down an end of gauze over his eye and squeezed Tyler’s arm gently. “I know. Get some more sleep.”

Tyler tipped his head back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling above them. Brad settled himself further on the bed and let his friend’s bodyweight fall against him, like he had every night since he arrived home. It didn’t take long until he felt Tyler’s soft and heavy breathing against his side. He stayed there for a while, watching Tuukka clean up around them and listening to Tyler sleep.

It was almost midnight when Brad’s phone chirruped in his hand.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to go.”

Brad all but ran out of the suite and down the stairs, sending a group of guys scattering to get out of his way. He found McQuaid and Ference in the kitchen.

“Get everyone that’s not essential out of here. And find Lucic.”

“What?”

“Everyone that doesn’t need to be here, toss them out. Except, wait, get someone to go up and help Tuukka with Segs. And get Lucic, now.”

They did as they were told, and Brad shot back up to his room to get a second gun and change his shirt. Lucic entered his room without knocking. 

“When does your date for prom arrive?”

“Looch, go change too.”

“What? They just told me you wanted me to come see you.”

“So that I could tell you to get changed, yeah. I just said it. Go.”

Brad strode back out into the hallway and shouted down the staircase at a confused Adam and Andréw. “You two as well, get changed. Look presentable. And tool up.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve got guests coming.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve written Toronto as if they don’t have a captain. When I wrote this Tavares hadn’t even arrived in Toronto, never mind become captain! Which explains how I set up the Toronto Family.  
Also, Matt Martin is still in Toronto in this universe.

DALLAS

The LA trip came up sooner than either Jamie or Tyler would like. Jamie, because he hated going to other Captains for help to do his goddamn job. Tyler, because an increasing feeling of unease had settled in him over the last week since he’d remembered Jagr’s funeral. He couldn’t stop replaying that look of fury in Tyler Johnson’s eye as he’d launched towards him on Jagr’s driveway. He’d wanted to kill him.

Jamie and Tyler flew out of Dallas Fort Worth with Val and Dobby and landed late afternoon at LAX. Dobby picked up a car and they drove into the city as the sun was starting to set.

Tyler simultaneously hated and loved LA. He loved its sprawling energy, its restlessness that suited him. But he didn’t love its impossible size, the way you disappeared within it like a speck of nothing. He hadn’t been to LA for a while, not since a Boston trip when he was still a junior. He’d come away with a suspected fractured in his right hand he’d never had checked up, a loose molar, and a deep tan from an afternoon spent scorching on Manhattan Beach.

Running a large chunk of LA’s criminal underworld involved owning a lot of nightclubs. But Anze Kopitar was older now, a family man, and he kept his nights at the clubs to a minimum. It became his office hours. Roll up, roll up to talk, plead or bargain with Kopitar, and get menaced by his right hand man Drew Doughty at the same time.

It was midnight when Khudobin picked them up from the basement parking structure at their hotel. There was little traffic and the long smooth lines of the roads opened up obligingly all the way to Downtown LA. Jamie and Tyler rode in the back, the silence contemplative. Kopitar wasn’t exactly an old friend, but he was a long-standing Captain of an established Family. Kopitar wasn’t interested in history, despite all of the past problems his Family had had with the east coast. He’d made it to the top the hard way and knew what it took to remain there.

Anton dropped Val, Jamie and Tyler at the front door of the _Bailey_ club in a reserved VIP area. The men at the door let them in without question, and a hostess welcomed them with a simple hello and a gesture to follow her. She began to lead them to a reserved table, but as they crossed in front of other booths Tyler heard his name called. He turned as he felt a hand land on his arm, and looked up into the face of someone he hadn’t expected.

“Auston Matthews. The hell you doing here?”

Auston let go of his arm and they shook hands, standing close enough to see the whites of each other’s eyes.

“No doubt same reason as you, I need to talk to Kopitar.”

His gaze went over Tyler’s shoulder to Jamie. Tyler felt more than saw Val move into a better position to the side of them.

“Jamie Benn. Nice to see you.”

Jamie and Auston shook hands. Tyler didn’t recognise many of the guys at the table Auston had just left. He knew the Toronto crew pretty well - he had to, with his upbringing - and he kept a friendly interest in the goings on in a city where no single family or person was in control. They functioned in a sort of fiefdom, full of autonomous factions that worked to common goals. When it worked it was great. When it didn’t it was a shit show. But they all seemed happy enough with it. Matthews had started his career doing dirty work in Arizona, the groups there taking advantage of his connections to Mexico through his mother. When things had reached a nasty crossroads Auston had cut ties and moved himself and his family up to Canada. Biz in Arizona and Patrice Kane in Chicago had greased the wheels, and the young teenager was given a stellar reference in a city that needed young blood. He’d turned a lot around, him and that pack of baby faced criminals.

None of the rest of them, though, were at this paid for VIP table.

Except… “Freddie,” Tyler said, winking in acknowledgement. The Dane nodded his head back. There was a twinkle in his eye that could have been amusement or a keen desire to break something. Hard to tell with Frederik Andersen.

“Rolling solo tonight, Matty? Well, except for your ginger knight in shining armour.”

Auston smiled tightly. “We didn’t want to spook anyone. Which I guess is why you’re coming with only the one violent Russian this time?”

“I wanted a quiet talk, not a brawl,” Jamie added, turning his eyes to the corner of the bar, where Kopitar was holding court in the most private of VIP areas. Tyler was sure that someone had told Anze by now that they were here. The whole club was a noisy, sweaty waiting room, artfully managed by Kopitar’s boys. Who got in there at what time and for how long would be like jenga with a bunch of trigger happy game pieces.

“Fancy a drink?” Matthews asked.

Tyler didn’t feel any resistance from Jamie and their hostess had quietly slipped away, so he nodded. Auston turned and gave a look to the men around his table. Three of them stood up and obediently disappeared. It left just Andersen and a pale, square-jawed guy nursing a shot of vodka. Auston didn’t introduce him, and Tyler was sure Jamie knew who Andersen was, so there were few other pleasantries to exchange. A tray of drinks appeared, beers and rounds of shots for everyone.

Jamie picked up the beer by the cold neck and let it dangle between his fingers.

“Been keeping busy Auston?” he asked.

“Always stuff to be getting on with.”

“I heard you needed help to drag Willy and his favourite pack of matches from a ditch in Vancouver,” Tyler said, delighting in the burn of the vodka down his throat.

Auston smiled, all teeth. “Blond pain in my ass. Couldn’t get him ourselves, you know how jumpy Vancouver is, and Winnipeg owed us. Byfuglien sent someone in.”

“What was he doing over there?”

“Just a little business.”

Tyler had seen the pictures on CTV News of William Nylander’s ‘little business’.Apparently it took six fire crews ten hours to get everything under control.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy Jamie. How’s Houston going?” Auston asked, with a barely perceptible smirk.

Jamie looked dark tonight. The black suit, the black shirt, the hooded quality to his eyes, the shut-off expression on his face. He was in business mode, which wasn’t his friendliest side.

“Houston’s going just fine,” Jamie said. His normally flutey voice was flat, a sure sign he was pissed off.

“Really? I heard two of their warehouses went up in flames last night. Who was trying to kill who this time?”

Auston was an ass but he was smart, and when Jamie’s silence dragged on he let the subject drop. The conversation turned to other topics. Mutual acquaintances. The changes in Canada. What the hell Montreal were up to. 

“Who’s this?” Tyler asked eventually, gesturing to the fifth wheel at the table. Auston glanced over at his compatriot as though he hadn’t seen him before, then grinned.

“Are you telling me Tyler Seguin’s famous memory is failing him?”

The guy in question finally did something with his face - a little growing smirk at the corner of his mouth, and Tyler’s brain pinged with memory.

“Wait.” Tyler squinted. “Matt Martin_?”_

Martin tipped his shot in Tyler’s direction.

“Since when would New York loan you to a Canadian for protection?”

“Didn’t need to. He’s one of ours now.”

“That’s why I didn’t recognise you then. And you finally cut your hair. What are you doing in Toronto, of all places?”

“Change is as good as a rest.”

Which meant he’d done something on behalf of New York that required him to hide out in a whole different country for some time. Or he’d done something stupid to his own people in New York and, well, same ending.

“Right. So how much you charging for babysitting services up there? Extra for the diaper changing and the potty training?”

Auston didn’t find references to his age very funny, so now it was his turn for his expression to darken. Andersen was finally smiling though.

Out of the blue a hand clapped down on Val’s shoulder. Ilya Kovalchuck was one of Kopitar’s newest addition to the Family, but he was another famous Russian face around the Family network. He squeezed Val’s shoulder with a flex of his huge hand and muttered something in his fellow countryman’s ear. When he left Val gestured to his boss.

“Jamie, Kopitar is ready for you.”

Auston’s face turned to thunder. Jamie was up and out of the booth in an instant, but Tyler dawdled. Freddie’s smile had dropped.

“Sorry, did we skip the queue?”

Auston didn’t reply, because there was nothing he could say. Los Angeles was an ally to Boston, and Dallas an ally to Boston, and that made Dallas higher up in Los Angeles’s ecosystem than Toronto would ever be. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting to be pushed to the back of the queue for a younger Family.

Tyler left Auston glaring at the table top and followed his boss into the mouth of the beast.

“Try not to piss Auston off too much,” Jamie said to him. They were halted at the steps up to the platform area where Anze and his men lounged, and Tyler hadn’t realised Jamie had stopped until the last second. It meant that he was pressed up right against his boss - against his black suit and his always surprising bulk. It was quieter up here, by some magical trickery of sound, and elevated above the wet heat of the nightclub floor.

“Well he needs to be brought down a peg or two sometimes.”

“Tyler.” Jamie said Tyler’s name many ways, always managing to infuse the two syllables with whatever he was feeling at that moment. Warning. Fury. Shock. Laughter. This time it was fondly exasperated.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t do it if Auston didn’t love me as much as he does. It’s cool.”

Jamie’s face was masked by the rolling lights of the club, but Tyler felt a silent chuckle rumble through his body. 

Kovalchuk waved them in, one hand peeling back the curtain that made up the back entrance onto the VIP platform.

Anze Kopitar’s right hand man was on them in an instant.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Jamie moved forward to stand in front of Tyler. All he could do was blink in surprise at the sight of the stiff cords of Jamie’s neck as he blocked Doughty's path to him with his body.

Anze snarled ‘_Doughty’ _in his general’s direction, but it took two other men from LA to hold him back.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jamie asked Kopitar as Drew Doughty was pulled backwards. Anze put his drink down and gestured for the men from Dallas to sit. The area was littered with heavy duty leather chairs - armchairs, two seaters, some swivel and others stationary. The floor wasn’t sticky here, and the lights a little softer. Kopitar was no doubt a few years away from installing sound proof, one-way glass around the area. He was getting too old for this nightclub shit.

“It’s your fault, Benn. Dallas proves itself to be fucking useless as ever,” Drew spat, still in the flows of his rant. Toffoli managed to get a hand planted firmly on Drew’s chest and gave him a shove into a chair. The gap-toothed henchman finally caught Kopitar’s eye and went silent.

“Kempe is missing,” Toffoli supplied, as Doughty stewed in his chair.

Tyler did a quick flip through his catalogue-like mind. “As in Adrian Kempe?”

“He went east to see samples, like he does every three months. He’s got a good relationship with them out there. Or at least, we thought so. He went a week ago and hasn’t come back.”

Jamie felt an uncomfortable knot form in the base of his stomach.

“You mean Florida.”

Anze nodded once.

“Ass-fuck Florida,” Drew said. “You told us you had them sorted. And they’ve fucking taken one of our guys.”

“Who was he seeing in Florida?”

“He went to their warehouse in Jacksonville. He usually sees the guys who run the warehouse down there, Vasilevskiy and Huberdeau. As far as we know that’s what happened this time too.”

Jamie rubbed a hand across his beard, his face typically blank.

“He make the trip?”

“According to Huberdeau he did. They did the warehouse and sample check, they shook hands on the terms I’d already agreed with Luongo and Stamkos. Huberdeau says he dropped him at the airport in Jacksonville.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

“He never gives an update until he’s back in person, in case of phone taps. So we didn’t hear a word except for the morning of the warehouse visit.”

Tyler frowned at the patch of floor between his feet. He was glad that Jamie did his business in the back room of bars and not nightclubs. It was hard to think with all the bass and smell of mixers. Or maybe it was just the word ‘Florida’ screaming round and round his head like an alarm. Florida, Florida, Florida, Florida.

“It’s not like Huberdeau to lie like that.”

“But if someone was going to snatch him, why would they wait until he was out in public at Jacksonville? Their warehouse would be the best place to do it.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t make his flight?”

Anze shook his head. “If something happened then it was in Florida, but we don’t know where or by who.”

“Oh we know by who.”

“No, you don’t,” Tyler said, interrupting Jamie’s own rebuttal. “It’s a shit show in Florida, Doughty. Anyone could have done this without anyone else knowing about it.”

“You sure he didn’t run off with someone?” Jamie asked Anze. “A girl? Boy? Or that he’s been trying a bit more than samples?”

“Kempe wouldn’t do that,” Drew said, shaking his head. Tyler noted the ghost of head shakes in all the other LA men standing around the room.

Kopitar took a swig of his drink and said in a measured tone. “He never gave me or anyone else a reason to suspect.”

“What about Mario?”

Jamie turned to Tyler. “Who?”

“Adrian’s brother. He’s worked as a runner for a long time in Phoenix, but he’s been climbing the ladder recently.”

That knot got tighter in Jamie’s stomach.

“Adrian’s _brother _works for Arizona?”

Anze looked briefly pained. “He drifted for a long time when they both came over to America. We tried to get Mario to work here but LA didn’t really suit him. In the end he met a girl in Phoenix and he settled down there. It worked well for us, kept our two Families tighter.”

“Tell me that his brother doesn’t know that Kempe went missing in Florida.”

“It was Mario who told us he was missing. Mario was in Denver with Smith for a meeting, and Adrian’s plane connected there. They were going to meet and spend the day together, catch up. But he never showed.”

“Fuck. So Arizona knows. They know that someone from an ally family has gone missing in Florida. And that the person who’s missing is related to one of _their_ guys.”

“That’s about it, yeah.”

“The hell is going on out there?” Drew asked. He had a glass of vodka in his grip now. Tyler suspected Toffoli had given it to him to keep his hands busy from choking Jamie. “You said Florida was under control. They were _your _rabid animal to deal with after what they tried that shit the last time. You and the east coast Families said you had them sorted. And now one of our guys is missing.”

Jamie ignored Doughty’s contribution. “What are you doing to get him back, Anze?”

“We’re trying to get some ally Families into Florida and find out what is going on. So far, no luck. Everyone is scared. It’s been getting harder and harder to get anything out of them, but now they’ve gone silent on us. Just like last time.”

Anze leant his elbows against his knees and laced his fingers together. He moved his heavy eyes from Jamie to Tyler. “I need to know more.”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know.”

“Your old friends in Boston said they put Florida down. So why are they doing this all over again?”

“I haven’t spoken to Bergeron about anything in a long time, especially not about Florida. Last I heard was probably what you did - they were under pain of death to stay quiet and do as they were told.”

“I’m not talking about _official _knowledge, Seguin. I want to know what you’ve heard.”

Tyler rubbed his hands together and looked across at Jamie. Of course he knew a lot more about Florida than this, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing his job. But he had to make sure that he shared only what was necessary. Jamie gave him an imperceptible nod. Tyler he held out a hand and said, “Least you can do is get me a drink.”

Doughty let out a peel of his distinctive hyena laugh. Toffoli disappeared reluctantly and came back with a shot of what turned out to be the nastiest house vodka. Tyler didn’t care, he knocked it back in one and didn’t blink. He had plenty of experience drinking the cheap crap.

“Look, it’s not much, but I do talk to Huberdeau. He’s an old friend of Marchand’s from back in the day and we’ve always been friendly. He’s been wanting to get out of Florida but hasn’t had the nerve, and Luongo looks after him so he’s felt relatively safe. He never told me what happened back then, and I don’t think he knows. We talked a few months ago when he was in Colorado for some meetings.”

“He mention planning on killing one of our guys?”

“Huberdeau isn’t like that. He’s never killed anyone for Florida, he’s a transactions guy. He wouldn’t even know how to go about doing it. Not saying that he wouldn’t set Kempe up, but I doubt it.”

“What is this telling us exactly?” Drew snarled.

“Look, all those years ago when Florida kicked off, it looks like they were in it together. They tried to put aside their differences and become a single Family to take over as many of the Families as they could. But it didn’t work. We don’t know why exactly, but it looks like they simply couldn’t work together. They kept fighting over who did what, over who got what. Even if they’d achieved what they’d wanted, they’d have been at each other’s throats. Tampa and Miami _cannot_ get along. Ever since they got beaten back it’s got worse. They’ve been fighting internally. Guys like Huberdeau are frightened to stay but too scared to leave, because they don’t know who they work for anymore and who will come after them if they flee. Which means that whatever is happening now, whatever moves ‘Florida’ is making, that’s not Miami or Tampa Families. That’s whichever guys have decided they wanted to fuck up the other Families all over again. A group of them, and I don’t know who they are, want to mess with us in retribution for putting their last attempt down. They might be mostly Miami or mostly Tampa, but they’re not just one or the other. Whatever this group are doing is frightening everyone, the rest of Florida included.”

The room digested that in silence.

“We don’t know who this might be then? At all?”

Tyler shook his head. This was where he stayed quiet. Kopitar didn’t need to know that Tyler had an ever rotating list in his head, with names half scratched and other’s added in a rush.

“I have no idea.”

Anze’s look was piercing.

“I need a name. Any name. Something.”

Tyler shrugged. “Keep looking. I don’t have it. Believe me, if I did then I would want to have a word with them myself. But I don’t.”

Kopitar blinked first.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Kopitar leant back in his chair and waved a hand. The topic was dismissed. “What brings you to LA?”

“A loan,” Jamie said simply.

* * *

When they left, Jamie had his loan. Kopitar had his collateral. They exited the VIP area and were swarmed back into the hot swell of the club. The next Family would soon be invited in to get what they needed from Anze.

Tyler felt Jamie’s large land lay across the small of his back.

“Let’s go outside. Get some air.”

Nichuskin watched them through the fire exit and into a small alleyway at the back of the club. He waited for Jamie to dismiss him and then left them to it.

“You did well dealing with Kopitar. We got what we wanted.”

Jamie nodded. He ran his hand through his hair and it flopped messily over his head.

“Are you OK?” he asked, his eyes jumping from Tyler to the floor and the sky.

“What?”

Jamie finally found the bravery within him to look at Tyler directly. “Are you alright?”

Tyler blinked. Jamie was frowning, his eyebrows pinched so much that a small line formed.

“I’m fine,” Tyler said, automatically and confused. “Why?”

“You don’t look it.”

Jamie had watched Tyler all night. He’d been watching him for days. There was something lingering underneath his facade. Tyler was so good at putting it up that Jamie wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. But it was there, and Jamie had seen it slip in that room with Kopitar. He’d looked like a man who’d stepped backwards off the edge of the cliff and realised there was nothing to grab onto.

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Tyler lied, his hands still trembling at his sides. He looked up at Jamie and whatever he saw in Jamie’s face made him flinch. “OK, I just…hearing about Florida. It’s not what I want to hear, you know. It all sounds too familiar.”

“History doesn’t have to repeat itself.”

“But it could. If we don’t work out who is behind this then it could all happen all over again.”

“It won’t happen to you again.”

“How do you know?” Tyler asked. He didn’t sound angry, he sounded helpless. “How do you know it won’t? It’s probably happened to Kempe.”

“We’ll protect you in Dallas. You’re not on your own.”

“I wasn’t before.”

“Whatever we can do, we will do it. We won’t let you be a Florida target.”

Tyler gave a sad smile. “Thanks.”

They were standing very close to each other, Jamie’s fingers ghosting Tyler’s side. He wanted to reach out and curl his hand around Tyler’s, draw him in. But he couldn’t. This was a job he couldn’t afford to lose his heart in. Jordie tried to tell him otherwise - his brother was endless about it - but it was an oath Jamie had made to himself.

He’d seen what the mess of a person’s life could do the people around them. He knew what it was like to be an innocent party to that fallout. He couldn't do that to Tyler. 

“Promise me something, Jamie.”

Tyler had to crane his neck a little to look up at him, and when he did his gaze was solid, and that slight but familiar sureness Tyler held so well had come back to him.

“Of course.”

“If you hear anything about Florida, _anything, _just tell me. Don’t try to protect me from this or some shit, OK? I know Patrice thought that would help, he didn’t want any of us to worry about them. But it didn’t.”

Jamie nodded. “I promise.”

“Good. Go ahead, I’ll meet you out front.”

Jamie waited a long moment before he moved, enjoying the feel of Tyler’s heat close to him, the smell of him against his clothes. But eventually and reluctantly he moved. He could feel his pulse hammering in his fingers where they had almost closed around Tyler’s wrist.

Tyler waited until the door shut behind Jamie before he turned and planted his hands against the cool brick of the alley wall. He took five long, deep breaths, trying to remember the guidance Tuukka had given him months ago for moments like this. Five breaths became ten, then fifteen. By the time he got to twenty his hands had stopped shaking and his eyes were hot but dry.

He stood for a while longer, dialling himself back into his surroundings, pushing down roiling thoughts about Florida, and work, and the feel of Jamie’s hand on his back, of the heat of his fingers a hair’s breadth from his own.

When he finally had his head together Tyler turned around to go back into the club, and walked right into Frederik Andersen’s chest. The Dane had managed to sneak up on him in the dark. There were very few people who could do that.

“Jesus, Andersen. You’re, what, 230 pounds? How do you stay that light on your feet?”

Freddie simply flashed that complicated smirk of his. If he’d seen any of Tyler’s attempt to scrape his sanity back together, he didn’t give any indication.

“Auston wants me to pass on a message.”

“Really? He can’t do it himself?”

“He was having a little trouble controlling himself after Dallas skipped the queue. He didn’t want an opportunity to punch you in the face. His words, not mine.”

“Fair enough. What’s he want to say?”

“He says you should go back to Toronto when you can.”

Tyler sighed. “Great message, tell him thanks for that. What is he, my Mom?”

“No, but when she can’t get a hold of you she calls us, asks whether we know if you’re alive or not.”

Ouch.

“OK, I’ll call my Mom. Is that really the message you needed to creep up on in the dark to tell me?”

Freddie wasn’t going to be rushed, so he let Tyler wait a few long moments before deigning to speak again. “He says you should go back to Toronto when you can because Mitch wants to talk sales. He suggested next month, the nineteenth. Then we’ll know everything that we’ve got to sell from Winnipeg.”

“Fine. Organise it, and Jamie and I will come. It’d be good for him to get to know Toronto better. Anything else?”

Freddie pulled a crisp white business card out of his suit and tucked it into Tyler’s breast pocket.

“Mo says to call him.”

Job done, Freddie moved off with unnerving silence.

“Auston should think about putting a little bell on you,” Tyler called after him. The big Dane just laughed. 


	15. Chapter 15

BOSTON

Brad took in a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Patrice’s place looked presentable, but the household team had been stretched thin by the sheer amount of people traipsing in and out over the last few weeks. It sounded ridiculous to want to prettify Patrice Bergeron’s hallway before he heard the rumble of the security gate, but it was important. Things may have gone to shit and one of Patrice’s men had been snatched for weeks, but no Family boss wanted important guests to see their house as a bomb site. The house was a hub of everything that went on, it was the crux of their power and reflected how they handled their people, time and life. If Brad wanted to worry about whether the flowers on the hall table looked kind of dead, he was allowed to worry about the damn flowers.

He hissed at Ference to hide the vase.

“Anything else to add before we go into this blind?”Lucic asked from where he was lounging against the banister at the end of the stairs.

“All I know is that they are coming, that’s it.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good idea, if you ask me.”

“Well nobody did, Looch.”

Lucic held up his hands. “Fine. Will be quiet as a mouse. And keep my hand on my gun.”

“Yeah, keep it handy,” said Brad under his breath, feeling the prod of his own against his hip, “Fuck, do we have drinks?”

“It’s been sorted. Want us to find some red carpet too?”

Brad mumbled something about rolling Adam up in red carpet after filling it with holes, but it was drowned out by the sound of the security gate beginning to peel back. The noise of engines rolling up the driveway filled the hall.

“Good luck,” said Lucic.

Patrice was first through the door. Brad hadn’t expected the overwhelming slap of relief at finally seeing his boss with his own eyes. The feeling was followed by something hot and angry that he swallowed back down painfully. Then he noticed the violent bruise across the left side of Patrice’s face. And that his clothes were rumpled and had clearly been worn for some time. He hadn’t shaved in days. He looked hollowed out.

Patrice didn’t break pace as he threw his keys onto the hall table, now devoid of flowers, and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t look at his three men lined up and waiting for him. Brad pretended that that didn’t sting either.

The three stayed where they were in parade rest. Patrice’s arrival hadn’t felt like enough permission to move.

Two men Brad hadn’t seen in a while were next through the door. The first was Pascal Dupuis, with hair clipped tight to his skull and the face of a guy weathered by the years. A man who had made the transition from old Pittsburgh to new as though it were nothing, and who walked into Patrice Bergeron’s house in Boston like it was a similarly trifling thing. The other man was Kris Letang. Bang Bang Kris Letang, Brad had heard him been called more than once, and he knew at least a dozen reasons why. He had his black hair swept back off his face and a dangerously flat expression. He planted himself firmly in the centre of the hallway and glared at the inside of Bergeron’s home.

Pascal made his way over to the trio of a welcoming committee.

“So this is Patrice’s home, eh?” he said to Brad as he shook his hand with bored disinterest. “What a place. Homely. Isn’t it Tanger?”

Letang turned his black look their way but didn’t answer his colleague’s question. Dupuis finished up shaking McQuaid’s hand and gave them all a sharky grin. “You ready, boys? My my, you do all look smart. Didn’t need to dress up for us you know.”

Car doors slammed outside and Brad turned his attention back to the door.The next in were men Brad didn’t recognise, but from the accents he guessed they were Philadelphia’s crew. They gathered in the hallway and seemed to take a sudden and deep interest in the interior decoration of Patrice’s home. They all kept a clear six feet between themselves and Letang. That meant that the entranceway, grand as it was, was slowly running out of space. Patrice was still in the kitchen, so Brad gestured down the side of the stairs where a small corridor led to the back room. The business room.

“Help yourselves.”

The Philadelphia crew shuffled away. Letang waited until they were all well down the hall before setting off after them. Dupuis flashed Brad a grin. “Friendly bunch, aren’t they?”

More car doors slammed outside, and next through the door was Evgeni Malkin. He had the confident stride of a man who rarely felt out of place. A light sifting of snow was melting on the black wool of his long coat. Every time Brad saw Geno he swore he was taller, bigger. As he walked past them he peeled off a pair of black leather gloves and brought a sweep of chilly air to their skin. Malkin didn’t glance at the Boston men, or even at Dupuis. He headed straight down the side of the stairs into the back room, knowing the way from experience. Sidney Crosby was right behind him, and Brad’s stomach swooped with relief when he saw that Chara was with him. Thank god, someone else in charge had arrived.

Crosby looked no different than any other time Brad had seen him - he swore blind that the guy never aged, just refined. The only thing that ever changed about him was the shape of his jaw, and Brad had yet to find out the details of _that _story.

Chara gave them all a half smile as he passed, but didn’t turn his attention away from what Crosby was earnestly telling him.

Brad knew more of the New York guys. They all shook hands and exchanged some low level pleasantries. Dupuis was still hanging around, setting the hairs on the back of Brad’s neck on end. The scar over his ribs itched.

Claude Giroux and Henrik Lundqvist entered together. Wayne Simmonds was on Giroux’s tail, looking about as happy with this whole thing as Brad felt. Giroux gave Brad a nod as they passed and headed down to the back room without needing to be directed.

“Head in there. Let Chara play host. I’m going to get Bergy,” Brad said to Lucic and McQuaid. He waited until the last man disappeared down the hallway and then ducked into the kitchen.

“Patrice-”

“One minute.”

Patrice looked wrecked. He was hung over the sink with a large glass of water in one hand and his gun in the other.

Brad waited as Patrice took a moment, drank all of the water in one go, then checked his gun.

“Why are New York, Philadelphia and _Pittsburgh_ in the house?”

“How’s Tyler?”

Brad swallowed down a retort that would probably only get him shot with that handgun, and bit out. “Not good.”

“He’s here?”

“In your room, like you said. Where the hell have you been, Patrice?”

“I had to sort shit out.” He looked up at Brad with wild eyes. “Just let me sort this out, Brad. I promise. It’ll be fine.”

Brad knew he couldn’t argue. He left Patrice in the kitchen and made his way to the meeting.

The room at the back of Bergeron’s house was dark and lit only by table lamps and a gas fire in the grate. Trees grew up over the windows, masking the view, and the interior decoration of rich wood and dark, thick carpets made the place womb-like. A large sectional and an array of matching armchairs created a rough horse-shoe seating area. In an annex off the side a large table - mahogany and worth a fortune, though Patrice never seemed to appreciate it - held everyone’s guns.

Adhering to hierarchy was like breathing air to members of the Families. Everybody found their place with the minimum of fuss. Evgeni Malkin was sprawled on the sectional taking up all the space the six foot two Russian could, and Sid was in the armchair to his right. Giroux was at the other end of the horseshoe, on an armchair, leant forward with his forearms braced on his knees. Simmonds glared at everyone from a position next to Giroux on the end of the couch, and refused a glass of spirits when it came his way. Dupuis was also on the couch, between one of his bosses and his Philadelphia equivalent. Good job there was a couch made big enough to keep distinct distances between three aggressive men. Lundqvist took one of the other armchairs. His guys were lounging at the back of the room with the others. The lowest of the food chain were in the corners, hovering and drink-less. Patrice had chosen to stand, leaning against the fireplace. Chara had the final armchair and was inspecting the whiskey in his hand.

“I hate to sound rude,” said Dupuis, craning his head back and looking up at Brad with a supercilious smirk. “But you standing behind me all night is going to make me nervous.”

“Why? Think he’s going to see your bald spot?” asked Simmonds, unsmiling.

“Oh funny, I get it, I’m an old man. Hey, Marchy, go stand behind Simmonds instead. Tell me how that skull of his fixed together.”

Malkin smiled, long and slow. Giroux and Crosby didn’t bat an eyelid.

Brad took a drink from the whiskey tray but put it straight back down at the sound of a knock at the door.

It was Tuukka. The light illuminated him strongly against the gloom as everyone turned to look.

“Tuuks. Still alive I see,” said Lundqvist, tipping his glass in Rask’s direction. Tuukka rarely showed shock or surprise, and he wasn’t about to do it now, but Brad noted the long drag the Finn’s eyes made across the room before focusing back onto Brad.

“His phone keeps ringing,” said Tuukka, depositing Tyler’s cell into his hand. He gave the room another look then left them to it.

“Who is it?” 

“It says B, Washington.”

“Leave it.”

“Maybe we should have invited Washington along for this shit show?” Giroux mused out loud.

“Seguin knows somewhere everywhere.” Dupuis held out a hand. “Here, I have a few things I’d like to say to Washington, pass it over.”

“As if,” Brad mumbled. He turned the phone off and stashed it in his inside pocket.

“Do you want to start things off, Chara?” Sid asked the big man, after a long and cold silence had fallen over the group.

Chara turned his head. “This isn’t my meeting, Sidney. Patrice?”

Patrice looked at his whiskey glass as he spoke.

“As you all know, Tyler Seguin was snatched in Carolina. He was there checking on our lines, nothing exciting. But someone smashed into the car he was riding in with a member of the Carolina Family and disappeared.

We asked you all to help find him. And the whole of the Boston Family appreciates your help, despite our differences. We might not be the strongest alliance, but we’ve also buried a lot of bad blood. Tyler is one of ours, but you all know him. And he means a lot to the whole Boston Family, and quite a few others besides.”

Brad couldn’t help stare openly at Patrice as he spoke. He realised then why Patrice’s absence had been so frightening. Brad could read Patrice like a book when he was in front of him. There were very few people who would know what Patrice was thinking right now, eyes down and face shuttered. Maybe him and Tyler, Chara perhaps. Without Patrice there to read Brad had lost all his handle on the man he called his boss and friend.

“We don’t think that these people choosing to take Tyler was just an act against Boston.”

“They snatched one of your guys and held him hostage for three weeks,” Simmonds said, the low timbre of his voice making the hushed silence of the rest of the room louder. “I think that sounds like a Boston problem.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. Like we all feared, it was the start of something bigger.”

“How do you know?”

Patrice’s voice was low and left no room for argument. “We all know.”

He let the silence settle across the men in the room like a heavy blanket. Some sat with it, others immediately tried to shift it off.

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

“Think about it,” Henrik said with a reluctant sigh. “We’ve all noticed it. How much grief has Florida given us all in the last year? They’ve pushing against the rules for months.”

“If that’s true then it was attempted spectacularly poorly.”

“Or look at it like this. The rest of us aren’t going to be devastated over the loss of Tyler, but if Boston suspected we were involved somehow they would tear us apart. And that’s the east coast alliance lost,” Crosby said.

“Then we’re lucky. None of us were prepared for this.”

“You think they killed each other?”

“Let’s hope so. They’re not above that.”

“Just look at Kucherov.”

A wave of agreement went round the room.

“All the kings horses and all the kings men are not going to put Kucherov back together again,” Geno said, swirling the drink in his hand.

“Most of us are too young to remember, but this isn’t the first time that Florida have tried something like this. We all know that they’ve never wanted to tow the line. We, all of us, should have seen it years ago.”

Everyone shared a look with their counterparts.

“Now, it seems obvious. It’s too late to stop what happened to Tyler, but it’s not too early to get Florida under control.”

The door began to rattle in its hinge. The dozen plus heads in the room turned to look at the door handle, now shaking like a rattlesnake. Someone shouted in the depths of the house and then the door popped open in a lurch. Tyler was holding onto the handle with both hands, and he let go he all but fell into the room. Ference ran up behind him and lunged for his arm, but didn’t manage to snag him before he got into the room.

Brad rushed to grab him but Tyler moved around the armchair and out of his grasp.

“Tyler, no.”

“He’s looking livelier than I expected,” someone drawled. Sid and Lundqvist moved to their feet, both concerned and unmistakably shocked at the state the man from Boston was in. A few of the lower security men had also leapt up at the intrusion. Chara rose from his chair and the hum of the room dropped in an instant. “Tyler, it’s ok.”

Sid and Henrik lowered themselves back to their seats.

“You’re meant to be resting.

“No, hey, it’s not. _Listen_.”

Brad went for his arm again but Tyler shrugged him off. The action nearly took him down, but he righted himself with a lot of effort.

“Listen. Trocheck and Barkov, that’s going to be rough.”

The four Families were silent as they stared at the Bambi-legged Tyler in the middle of the room. Finally, Crosby broke the tense pause.

“Trocheck?”

Tyler turned to Sid unsteadily. Brad could see how tightly his left fist was clenched, the skin around the scabs on his knuckles deathly white. The puncture marks from the IV were ugly and bruising colourfully.

“Vincent Trocheck.”

“Trocheck’s been dead for over a year.”

“He’s not. He’s been hiding. Barkov…_fuck,_ Barkov. Vincent, he hid himself. Dead. I don’t know what made him come back but he’s back.”

“No,” Giroux said slowly as he looked Seguin up and down. “Vincent Trocheck is definitely dead. I sweat through a good suit in Florida at his funeral.”

Tyler swayed dangerously.

“They said he came back. Stamkos is sleeping with one eye open. They said he came back.” He looked around the room but didn’t seem to comprehend who was around him. “They said things got bad again, they’re there. If he finds them they’re dead.”

“Who?”

Tyler’s voice grew louder, the words staccato and trembling. “They wouldn’t go with him, and he knows it now. It was their fault. Jesus, they knew it wasn’t true, they knew he was coming.”

Tyler lifted his hands and ran them through his hair. No-one said anything at the mess of bandages across his midriff, the stitches in his arms or the bruises on his hips, but a wince rippled through more than one face across the room. Tyler’s chest began to heave.

“Trocheck’s dead, Tyler, you can’t have seen him,” said Sid, carefully and gently.

“He was there. They said the fire was there, but he came and I didn’t see him.”

“I think we’re losing him again,” Letang deadpanned. 

“Tyler come on, back to bed.”

Brad finally hooked Tyler under the arm.

“Wait, wait a minute,” said Dupuis. “You’ve asked him who took him, right? Because he seems pretty chatty right now.”

“He doesn’t remember,” Brad hissed.

“Bye Seggy,” someone called, and Brad made sure to slam the door a little too hard behind them. The pair staggered down the adjoining corridor together towards the hallway, Tyler growing heavier and heavier in Brad’s grip. He gasped in relief when he saw Tuukka come down the stairs.

“Where is my patient?”

“Where were _you_?”

“I had to get more supplies. I left him sedated with Krug, what the hell happened?”

Brad glared up at the stairs at where he imagined Krug to be hiding. “I don’t know. He just ran right into the meeting.”

Tuukka put his hand on the side of Tyler’s neck and tipped his face towards him.

“Are you ok?”

Tyler moaned gently. He was white with a tinge of grey, his eyes unseeing.

“Jesus. Help me get him to bed.”

They took an arm each and hauled him up the stairs. Brad didn’t miss the murderous look Tuukka threw his way as they passed Krug in the doorway. They deposited Tyler on the bed carefully, tucked his limbs under the blankets and gently rested his head against the pillows he had laid against for the last ten days. Tuukka plied him with antibiotics and pain medication, and with his hand still cupping the side of Tyler’s head he told the younger man gently that it was ok now, to get some rest. As Tyler slipped away from them Brad finally felt the vice around his chest loosen.

Tuukka turned off all the lights but the bedside one and cut a look across at where Marchand was hovering by the door.

“What’s happening down there?”

“You really don’t want to know. Is Tyler going to be alright?”

Tuukka nodded, once, an assurance and a dismissal.

Brad made his way back downstairs. Krug was nowhere to be found, but he heard some of their guys talking in low voices in the kitchen. He glanced down the side of the stairs to the back room. Ference looked back at him and raised his eyebrows in a question. Brad waved him away and headed for the front door. Whatever conversation they were all having about shit in Florida would go on whether he was there or not. He stepped out into the freezing Boston air and let the chill slap him in the face.

Patrice’s driveway was cluttered with black SUVs. Between some of the hulking shapes a puff of smoke rose up in a tiny cloud.

Brad moved around the bumper of the two closest Range Rovers and found Marc-André Fleury smoking against a car door. He looked over at Brad, mid-drag on his cigarette, and plucked it from his lips after a deep inhale.

“Hey.”

“Hey Flower. How’s things?”

“I’m freezing my balls off in the snow,” said Fleury, the French Canadian accent hardly softened by all his years in Pittsburgh. “All good with me.”

“Why don’t you sit in the car?”

“It’s almost colder in there.”

“What, you can’t stick the heater on?”

“Don’t know how long they’ll be. If I use all the gas trying to stay warm Sid will slit my throat.”

They both laughed. Fleury offered him a cigarette. Brad didn’t consider himself a smoker, but wouldn’t say no to a social one every now and then. Especially in the freezing dead of a shitty night in November.

“How are you, Marchand?”

“Fine. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“You don’t sound it.” Fleury looked him up and down with a shrewd gaze. “Is Seguin getting better?”

Brad shrugged. “He’s ok.”

He really, really didn’t want to talk about Tyler. “Where are the other drivers? You not got any friends to hang out with?”

“Not a lot of English in the group. Hard to make small talk.”

He tapped out ash and watched it immediately die in the frigid air. “But hey, all the families are talking. That’s something. What are you doing out here instead of in there?”

“I just needed a break. All this…I don’t know what good it’s going to do. We need to take out Florida now and we need to do it properly. I don’t know how _talking_ about it is going to help.”

“You want revenge for what happened to Seguin,” said Fleury. It wasn’t a question.

Brad sucked a little too hard on the cigarette and had to suppress a cough. “You didn’t see him, Fleury.”

“No, I didn’t, but Sid told me. I get it, I do. But an eye for an eye isn’t going to bring Florida under control.”

Brad tossed his finished cigarette into the snow and blew out the last lungful of smoke. He’d smoked it too quickly and felt a little light headed.

“We don’t even really know who did it. No-one knows what’s going on down there. That’s what we need to work out first.”

They talked for a little while longer about the state of Florida, about what they’d both heard in various rooms and conversations up and down the country.

“You ever miss home?” Fleury asked out of the blue. He was nursing his cigarette, eking its warmth out for as long as possible. Brad felt a little guilty that the drivers were all stood out in the snow like this, but not too guilty. He’d had his fair share of standing in cold weather for the safety and comfort of those above him. Even if he did invite them all in for a hot drink these men wouldn’t risk his post for a moment’s warmth.

“Canada? No. Not really.”

Brad didn’t have anything remaining in Nova Scotia, except for maybe a few last shavings of himself that he’d left behind over time, like a snake shedding old skin.

“I went up there recently to see my wife’s family. Bumped into a few friends, saw my grandparents. That’s all I’ve got left up there, but it got me thinking.”

“About what exactly?”

“About what we miss from home. I realised that the light is different up there. I never realised it, but the light down here has always looked strange to me. And I didn’t know that until I went up there. You know what I mean?”

“You’re French, Fleury. You think about highbrow shit like that all the time. I don’t think about home at all.”

Flower’s look called him a liar. Brad tucked his hands into his pockets as the chill finally got to him. He didn’t want to admit it, but Fleury was right. There were things that Brad carried with him from home. The sense of the sea being always close by, the quiet green and ambling pace of life. He never found any of those things in Boston. But he still looked for them, in the corners, the city that he’d lived in for his entire adult life.

He was already sad. He didn’t need a philosophical Frenchman to compound his feeling. He shook Fleury’s hand and went back into the house. As he stepped through the door he saw Krug running up the grand staircase, a jug of water in hand.

“Torey?”

Krug waved his hand in a dismissal and disappeared in a flash up to Patrice’s room. Ference, still at the door to Chara’s back room, gestured him over.

“What?” Brad asked, torn between the stairs that took him to his sick friend, and the small corridor that led to his boss.

Ference thumbed towards the door. If Brad concentrated he could hear the shouting going on in the room. Giroux was calling Crosby all the offensive French-Canadian slurs he could think of. Brad was about to head on in when the door opened up and Patrice came out. The shouting got louder then faded as he clicked it shut behind him.

“What’s going on?”

Patrice gestured for Brad to follow him. They ended up in Patrice’s office, the door firmly locked behind them.

“Where have you been since we found Tyler?”

Patrice put his head in his hands. His shoulders were slumped down, his back bowed as he put his elbows on his knees. Brad moved around the desk so that he was right in front of Patrice.

“You weren’t here.”

“I know. I know I wasn’t. I should have been. But I…I thought I could do something about it. And I wouldn’t be any use to him.”

“We had the hospital and Tuukka to look after him. He needed us to be there for him.”

Patrice ran his hand through his hair. “I get it. I do.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went to Nashville. Luongo is hiding out there. He called me. He wanted to explain what was going on in Florida, he told me he knew what happened to Tyler.”

Patrice looked up from the floor finally. He looked desperate. “He promised we could talk about what the hell was happening in Florida. But when I got there he wouldn’t show. He said it was too dangerous. I wasted all that time on _nothing_. I tried to see more people, I talked to everyone that I could, but no-one would give me an answer.” He shook his head. “I made a mistake. I thought I could solve this myself but whatever is happening it’s not…damn it, I thought I could at least find out what happened to him. Who took him. But I got nothing.”

Brad had a lot more to say. About how Tyler needed him more in the hospital than all of them put together. That the Family would have helped him sort this out _after _they knew that Tyler was ok. That the other Families had a stake in this too and he wasn’t the only one who needed to do something about it. But he didn’t say it out loud, because Patrice knew it all. So instead he reached a hand down and squeezed his boss’s shoulder as hard as he could.

“Go and see Tyler. Then go back to the meeting and do what you need to do. Philadelphia will start an all-out war if you’re not careful, and New York wants an excuse to kill someone. Tyler needs to know you’re here, but all of us need you to do your job.”

Brad watched him go up the stairs to his suite, then went back into the meeting.

* * *

Patrice pushed the door to his suite open as quietly as he could. Tuukka still heard him, but he didn’t turn away from watching his patient.

“Is he ok?” Patrice asked in a whisper. He had sound proofing installed in the meeting room but he could have sworn he heard the tinny sounds of Sidney Crosby losing his shit downstairs.

Tuukka had his fingers pressed to Tyler’s wrist, checking his pulse. When he saw Patrice looking he let go and stood up. He collected his phone off the bedside table and crossed to the door.

“Call me if you need me,” Tuukka said when he paused by Patrice’s shoulder. He gave his old friend a pointed look. “He’s not asleep.”

Patrice stood for a while watching Tyler’s still form in the bed. He certainly looked asleep. Patrice sighed and loosened his tie. He toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it in a pile next to the shoes. He unbuckled his suit trousers and let them fall in a heap at his ankles. He closed the gap and crawled onto his bed, pulling the sheets back as he went.

Tyler felt warm in the bed. Patrice slid his hand around Tyler’s wrist as he settled next to him. Close enough to feel the heat off him, but far enough to leave a gap between them both.

The first words Tyler spoke to him after all that time were ‘What the hell is going on downstairs?’

Patrice settled on his back and looked up at the ceiling above his head.

“I think Sid is threatening to kill Claude.”

Tyler’s voice was cracked and underused, but he still managed to sound amused. “So business as usual then?”

“Yeah. Business as usual.”

Tyler moved his arm and wound his fingers into Patrice’s.

“Where have you been?”

Patrice rolled onto his side and he and Tyler looked at each other properly for the first time. Patrice lifted a hand and ghosted his thumb down Tyler’s cheek.

“I was trying to help.”

“Why weren’t you here?” Tyler asked. His eyes swam, but when he blinked tears didn’t fall. “You weren’t here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Patrice said. There was nothing else to say. Tyler needed him and he wasn’t there. Tyler turned his face so that Patrice’s hand cupped his cheek fully. He felt real under Patrice’s palm. Skinny and haunted but real.

Tyler nodded gently. “I know you’re sorry. It’s OK.”

“It’s not,” Patrice said, quiet enough that he wasn’t sure Tyler would have even heard it. Tyler let out a soft breath of a laugh.

“You might be my boss, but you can’t tell me I don’t forgive you. I do.”

Patrice felt his first smile in weeks ghost his lips. Tyler smiled back at him.

“It’s OK, Patrice.”

Patrice felt relief to hear the words. But he also felt sadness, a grief that seeped right into him. And loss. He’d lost Tyler. He’d lost whatever they’d once been. It was gone, and they weren’t going to get it back, and Tyler didn’t know that right now but Patrice did. He thought of the conversations he’d had with Chara during his frantic search for answers. What he knew he had to do.

Tyler went to sleep in his arms and then, once Patrice was sure he was dreaming, he gently unwound him from his grip, got dressed, and left. 


	16. Chapter 16

DALLAS

They landed back from Los Angeles with the gala only a day away, giving no time for Tyler to call Morgan Rielly as he’d been instructed. But he did encourage Jamie to organise a meeting in Toronto with Mitch Marner. Jamie reluctantly agreed. He wasn’t exactly a fan of going back to Canada, something that Tyler didn’t know until Jordie told him, and a fact he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tried.

At least he’d had the time before they left to buy a suit with Klingberg’s ‘expert’ help. He hadn’t enjoyed the four hours it took to find it, or being felt up by two separate tailors, or Klingberg’s manhandling him into different lights to check different colours. But he liked the end result. It was heather grey with black piping, which he was told to wear with a white - and only white - shirt. Klinger had even picked him a pocket square in something he called ‘victory green’, and given him detailed instructions on how to place it in the pocket of his suit for the right affect.

“What do you think?” Tyler asked Rads when he swung by to pick him up. Rads folded his arms and looked Tyler up and down with an analytical stare.

“Good,” he said eventually.

“What, that’s it? ”

“Is better than your other suit. In that old one you look like…how you say it? Gigolo?”

“What?”

“You know, man who sleep with old ladies, to get money.”

“I know what a fucking gigolo is, I don’t look like a gigolo.”

Rads raised his eyebrows. “Well not in this, no.”

Tyler punched Rads’ arm hard enough to deaden it.

They drove to Jamie’s house and Radulov set off to arm himself for a night of protecting Jamie against the great and good of Dallas. Dobby was waiting by Jamie’s Range Rover ready to be driver for the night, and he whistled as Tyler headed over.

“Looking sharp Seggy.”

“Now that’s the reaction I was going for. We ready to go?”

“Just waiting for Jamie.”

Dobby nodded over Tyler’s shoulder towards the house. Jamie was loitering in the doorway, blocked by his brother. Jordie had his back to everyone and was right up against Jamie’s side, trying to tell him something quietly but insistently. Tyler felt like he was invading on something personal, so he turned away to fiddle with his pocket square. Eventually Jordie let his brother go and when Tyler looked over again he was watching them all with a pensive if amused expression, his beard tucked against his chest.

“Have fun kids,” he called over. It wasn’t until Jamie rounded the side of the car that Tyler was hit with the full force of his boss in an all-black suit.

“Ready?”

All Tyler could do was nod, suddenly dry-mouthed.

He slid into the back of the car with Jamie. Rads sat up front silently. Dobby drove, smooth and seemingly impervious to traffic as ever.Comeau and Dickinson were in the car behind, Connor driving.

Tyler scrunched his toes in his new dress shoes and hoped to god no-one else heard the squeak of his sweaty socks against the shiny sole.

Jamie had organised to take him to Nobu before the gala began. They had a private table reserved in the back and the maître d’ greeted Jamie like a long lost friend. It wasn’t until they were sat down that Tyler realised how tucked away the table was from the rest of the diners.

“Nice watch,” Jamie said, nodding toward Tyler’s wrist. He’d been playing with it as the waiter poured their drinks. It was something he only wore when he needed to look the part. It was a vintage Rolex, silver, with a black strap and a black face. Klingberg had approved it as suitable to wear with his new suit. He felt like tonight was the night to debut it in Dallas, but he had a horrible habit of twiddling with it when he was distracted or anxious about something.

“Thanks. Patrice bought it for me.”

It suddenly didn’t seem the right thing to say. Tyler powered on instead, hoping to bury the information amongst the rest. “I wish I could wear it more, it’s my favourite. But with the places I go sometimes it’s best not to wear this sort of thing.”

He didn’t see any reaction to the Patrice thing on Jamie’s face as he lifted his wine glass. There was a heavy pause, but when Jamie spoke his voice was light.

“Once, when I was working for Morrow, I had to watch a deal go down somewhere in a pretty shitty part of New York. Ovechkin was there and when we pulled up we saw his Mercedes parked outside. There was no-one waiting with it, it was just sat on the curb. I asked him that evening how he was able to keep his car safe when he left it alone. He told me if you leave a nice car unattended in a bad neighbourhood, all the locals are going to assume you’re a high-up drug dealer. And they won’t touch it for fear of pissing off the wrong person. He told me left it unlocked for years in places exactly like that, and never had a problem.”

“Yeah, that sounds like an Ovi kind of story,” Tyler said, laughing softly.

Jamie sipped his wine with a smile.

“That still doesn’t mean I’m going to wear my Rolex out in the rough parts of Dallas. I don’t think it gives off the same vibe as an expensive car.”

“No. It’s more personal,” Jamie said. Tyler lifted his wine and took a larger than polite gulp. Maybe the comment about Patrice hadn’t gone unnoticed.

But really, why did it matter? Was Jamie trying to _date_ him? If he was, then he was going to have to be more clear about it, because despite those long looks and sudden closeness he hadn’t actually said a thing to Tyler about his relationship status: past or present. And yet, whenever Tyler mentioned Patrice, he saw a flicker of something around Jamie’s eyes. Like a soft pain, or a flinch. He hadn’t noticed it at first but now…well, now he’d seen it once he couldn’t stop noticing it.

Is that what Jamie wanted out of this working relationship? He’d heard Tyler was sleeping with Patrice and he’d thought hey, I could do with some of that? Someone for his bed who had a brain. I’ll offer Tyler a job and get him to do the same for me.

Tyler didn’t want to pick away at that idea. He took a big mouthful of wine and planned to bury that thought far down away with others.

“I have no idea what to order,” Tyler admitted, hoping to break the weird tension that had settled.

“We should have asked Rads, he’s come here before. He and Dobby love it.”

Tyler shook his head. “Are you kidding me? Dallas guys can afford to come to _Nobu_?”

Jamie shrugged. “We take care of all the other stuff in their lives. Any money they get is theirs to spend how they want.”

“I was lucky if I could go to Starbucks on my own dime in Boston.”

“Bergeron didn’t pay your rent?”

Oh god, how did he manage to get back onto Patrice again?

“No, he did. I also had a room at his place. We all did. That’s why he has that big house. But I wasn’t really senior enough to get much of the pot, I guess.”

Jamie nodded. He was looking at the menu, though Tyler wasn’t sure he was really reading what was in front of him.

“I’m more a chicken wings kind of guy,” Jamie said eventually. Tyler laughed.

“Yeah, I am too. But this is nice. Fancy. You got anything to recommend?”

“I’ve barely been here.”

“The maitre d’ ran up to you like you were his lost puppy.”

“I own the building,” Jamie said lightly, not looking up from his menu.

“Oh. Now I’m starting to see where Dallas really gets it money from. You should go into property.

Jamie shook his head. “Not a lot of fun in property.”

Tyler smirked into his own menu.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” their waiter asked politely, his eye’s flicking between the two of them to see who would take the lead.

“What do you recommend?” Tyler asked.

“Oh, the beef tobonyaki is-”

“Great, we’ll get two of those. Thanks.”

The waiter took their proffered menus, poured them more wine and left them to it.

“Well that’s one way to do it.”

“What did he even say? Beef something?”

“If it’s awful I’m blaming you.”

“Hey, I thought you were the one who knew how to do fine dining. You should know this shit.”

“Every year I get the feeling I fit in less in Dallas. You’ll see at the gala.”

“What’s the Dallas crowd like at these things?”

“Kind of what you’d expect. Lots of oil guys, finance execs. Rich men with wives half their age. Some rich women with husbands half their age.”

“Is it raising money for something?”

“The board of commerce says it’s to raise money for disadvantaged kids to play sport. I doubt there’s any paperwork to confirm that.”

Their food arrived and they talked as they ate. Not about work but about Dallas, about their siblings, about their lives. The lighting cast everything in an almost caramel glow that picked out the hazel in Jamie’s eyes and the odd fleck of light hair in his beard. This was exactly the sort of thing Tyler didn’t want to be noticing. But the wine had hit him, the food was good, and Jamie was beautiful and full of laughter. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening.

Jamie even said yes to the dessert menu. They ordered the same as each other again, warm chocolate sponge with a fancy sauce that Tyler couldn't pronounce. Once it arrived Tyler braced himself to get something off his chest. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why do you never want to go back to Canada?”

Jamie blinked slowly back at him. He finished his drink of wine then placed the glass carefully by the edge of his plate. Tyler’s gaze lingered on his long fingers touching the stem.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t, really. But you are reluctant to travel to meet any of the Canadian Captains, even though I keep trying to set up meetings. I talked to Jordie about setting up something with Mitch and he asked me to try to convince Toronto to come down here. Which wasn’t the point of the meeting.”

“I’m not a big fan of flying.”

“Well I know that. But you’ve flown to LA, Washington, Nashville and Arizona since I arrived. Just never north of the border. I’d have thought a good old BC boy would want to return to the motherland every now and then.” Tyler popped a mouthful of his dessert in his mouth and watched Jamie watch him as he savoured it. “Bad memories?”

Jamie shrugged one shoulder. “Not all bad. Just memories. I don’t enjoy living in the past.”

“And visiting Canada does that?”

“I feel like it could. But I’m sure I can manage a few days in Toronto.”

It should have been infuriating for Jamie to be this cryptic. 

“Why are you so desperate for me to go to Toronto anyway?”

“They might be an old Family but the young guys are in charge. They’ve got a lot of business if you are happy to work with them.”

“And you think we should be?”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Are you getting at something?”

Jamie was smiling, but there was a tinge of a tease to his voice. “I heard you were told to call Morgan Rielly.”

“How the hell did you hear that?”

“You think you’re the only one who can find out people’s secrets?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Mo doesn’t want to talk business.”

“Just pleasure then?”

Tyler looked up in a flash, wondering what he meant by that, but it was instantly clear that Jamie was chirping him.

“Ha-ha. We’re old juvie friends. We come across each other through work sometimes, but every now and then we like to do a proper update.”

“Juvie? What are you, some sort of criminal?” Jamie asked with a chuckle.

“Shut up, you never made it to juvie? How can you call yourself a Family boss?”

“Don’t think they had the money for in British Columbia. I was on probation for about five years, but they never did anything about it no matter how many times I broke it. I miss out on anything?”

“Oh yeah, it was a scream. Kiddie bunk beds, terrible food, showers with no hot water, sadistic people in charge. But sometimes you got to know some good people. Like Rielly.”

“Anyone else from the Toronto Families?”

“Mitch clearly looked too angelic to get banged up. By the time I was growing out of the system Mo was there, and sometimes Connor.”

“McDavid?”

“Yeah. I got to see what kind of a guy he was before he really made it big.”

“And?”

Tyler laughed. “He had a reputation when he went in, though not many of us knew it. He grew up in Richmond Hill, so he was loosely part of the Toronto scene. But not a lot of people had heard about him.”

“So was he worse back then, or better?”

“A lot of people think he became weird over time but no, he’s always been like that. I remember in juvie they tried to medicate him for a while, though I’m not even sure they really knew what they were trying to treat. He was like a zombie. It was pretty sad actually.”

Tyler sipped more wine, thinking about his juvie days with an odd sense of wistfulness. “Anyway, they took him off that eventually and he went back to being good old Connor. Just before I left he beat the crap out of one of the older kids and got put in solitary, so I didn’t see him again before I got let out.”

“Why did he beat him up?”

“The guy was an idiot, he knew what Connor was like. Apparently he tried to grab Connor in the shower or something - it’s juvie, it happens - and Connor whaled on him. He got so many teeth knocked out of his mouth he had to be flown to a different facility to get dental _surgery_. They rarely used solitary in that place, but they didn’t hesitate to put him in. Doubt it affected him. I imagine he’s got too many voices in his head to ever feel lonely.”

“Wow. Well I can safely say that I feel good about missing out on all this juvie excitement.”

Jamie was so talkative that Tyler felt a sudden and nerve-wracking flash to ask another question that had been sitting with him for a while.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Jamie was grinning, amused at Tyler’s inquisitive mood. “Sure.”

“Why did you take me?”

“Take you where? To Nobu?”

“Not to Nobu. Here, to Dallas.”

Jamie paused with his fork sunk into the sponge. “Oh. You never talked about with Patrice?”

Tyler swallowed past a mouthful of his dessert that had suddenly dried up in his throat.

“No. He just…one day he told me there was an opportunity for me in Dallas. That it would be a good place for me to go to help out an east coast ally. Do something different, get away from being a target. They still had all the Florida shit to sort out and he didn’t want me to be there for it. He didn’t tell me how it happened. But is that what he said to you?”

Jamie waited until the waiter poured the very last of the wine before he spoke.

“No, he didn’t. But I said it to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Boston told everyone you were home and recovering, I called Patrice. I said if you needed something different, to get out of the spotlight, and to help us out expanding as part of the east coast….then you could come to work for us.”

Tyler truly did not know what to say to that. His heart had begun to hammer away under his expensive suit. His nerves had just started to relax after winding himself up about this date for days. And now the adrenaline and the shakes were back.

Jamie Benn had asked him to come to Dallas. He'd invited him and Patrice said yes. Not the other way around, as he'd always assumed. 

“What did you think happened?” Jamie asked carefully.

“I thought Patrice looked around for somewhere for me to go. I thought he rang people, asked them if they could take me. Somewhere that would be useful for Boston.”

Jamie picked his next words carefully. “I don’t know why he didn’t talk to you about it.”

“No. I don’t either,” Tyler said, feeling suddenly defeated. But his automatic reaction to defend Boston and Patrice kicked into life like clockwork. “But he had a lot on his plate. And I wasn’t exactly well enough to keep up with what was going on. I recovered at his house for a few weeks, and when I was feeling better I begged him to go back to work. He wouldn’t let me, said that they still didn’t have a handle on Florida. It wasn’t safe for me. When they finally had Florida sanctioned up to the eyeballs, he told me I was going to Dallas.” Tyler shrugged halfheartedly. “There wasn’t really time to talk about it. He’d already organised it.”

He hadn’t wanted to go. Patrice had told him quietly and calmly, and Tyler had been loud and furious in return. Patrice had clearly chosen a time when the house was empty and looking back, Tyler was glad for it. He’d called Patrice every vicious name under the sun, but none more so than ‘coward’.

You’re a coward, Patrice. You’re a coward. 

Patrice didn’t ask him to elaborate. He’d absorbed the name calling and the screaming and remained as infuriatingly passive as he did in every Family meeting. He refused to rise to Tyler’s bait, no matter how hard Tyler tried.

This is how you deal with me, Patrice? Send me away? I’m your fucking damaged goods? You made this mess and you don’t want to clean it up. You’re a fucking coward Bergeron.

Tyler didn’t remember ever feeling fury like it before. And when it was all over he just…accepted it. He had to. He hadn’t been far gone enough to miss the resolve in Patrice’s face as he yelled at him. This was what was Tyler was doing, because it was his path. He had no other options.

He’d slept in Brad’s bed that night feeling like he’d been physically gutted by some invisible hand. He’d sobbed like a child, as hard as he’d cried the day of his Dad’s funeral. The pain had felt like mourning, just a different kind. But it hadn’t been tears of desperation. He was going to Dallas and that was that.

Tyler’s eyes flushed hot with the memories and he distracted himself with the last of his wine.

“Well, thanks for telling me. I didn’t know.”

“I thought you talked to Boston still.”

“To Brad and Pevs, yeah. Tuukka sometimes. I haven’t spoken to Patrice in a while.”

He hadn’t spoken to Patrice on anything other than a conference call since he’d left the house the morning of the flight to Dallas Fort Worth. He had the number to Patrice’s secret line, a number only Chara and Tuukka and Ference knew. He’d tapped it into his phone as his flight to Dallas was boarding. He was going to call and tell Patrice he had to change his mind, because Tyler couldn’t do this. But for whatever reason he couldn’t bring himself to make the call. He’d deleted the number from the screen, pocketed his phone and handed his ticket over at the boarding gate.

“Sorry,” Jamie said. “I assumed Boston had covered it all.”

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault. I’m a big boy, I could have asked you if I wanted to know something.”

Jamie’s big eyes were dark and sincere. “Well you can. Ask, I mean. If you want to know anything.”

Tyler nodded tightly.

He wasn’t aware of the meal being paid, but when Jamie came back from a visit to the men’s room he gestured for the door.

“We’d better go. I promised to be there at least an hour and it started at nine.”

Tyler reluctantly dragged himself away from the table and the warmth of the restaurant. He let his hand fall onto the middle seat as Dobby drove them to the gala. His finger brushed against Jamie’s and neither of them moved.

By the time they got to the valet parking the wine was starting to wear off. Tyler pulled himself with a sigh from his own quiet reverie. Jamie decisively moved his hand away from the middle seat and used it to button up his jacket.

“What do you need me to do tonight?” Tyler asked quietly as Dobby inched the car behind the seemingly endless queue of limos.

“I just really don’t want to be stuck hand-shaking or making small talk. If I’m with someone, maybe they’ll leave me alone.”

Dobby pulled up at the front of the queue and a young valet ran up to the window. Dobby shook his head and the guy took a nervous step back. 

“I’ll leave you here boss,” Dobby said. Rads, Tyler and Jamie left the car. Comeau and Dickinson joined them from the second car, the four of them flanking Jamie as they headed to the doors of the casino. The men on the door perked up at the sight of him and someone said something in hushed tones into a discreet earpiece. They opened the doors for the Dallas Family and they entered into the warm muggy heat of the casino floor.

A line of well-dressed organisers shook Jamie’s hand, ignoring and unperturbed by the four men around him. They ushered him up the stairs to the casino floor where the event was being held. Jamie exchanged his money for chips with an unsmiling security guard, shook the hand of the Mayor - who did gulp rather loudly at the sight of Comeau and Rads in particular - and then they were free to do as they wished for the benefit of, apparently, a local youth sports initiative.

Jamie plucked two glasses of champagne off a proferred tray and handed one to Tyler.

“Ugh, I hate champagne,” Tyler said into his glass. “Why does alcohol need to have bubbles in it?”

“Just have this one and then they’ll do what you want at the bar,” said Jamie, amused. His voice was gentle and Tyler couldn’t fucking handle it. If Jamie was trying to be extra nice to him because of what was revealed at dinner, well, Tyler didn’t know what to do with that.

Tyler sipped at his champagne and followed Jamie around the tables. He’d nervously drunk the whole thing by the time he got to the bar, so he put the empty glass down and ordered whiskies for both of them. 

“So, how’s your card game?”

“Blackjack is about my limit. And you?”

“Roulette. Anything that requires little or no skill.”

Tyler glanced over Jamie’s shoulder at a chunky man with mean little eyes staring at the back of Jamie’s head. He was one of the dozens whose eyes had turned at the sight of Jamie’s arrival, and one of the many failing to be discreet about it. Everybody in attendance was well-heeled in that big, Texas kind of a way. Big hair, big heels, big watches, big personalities. The whole room had been draped with silver swathes of fabric, no doubt meant to add some class to the casino floor, but just made the light refract in odd ways and give Tyler a headache. 

“So, who do you not want to speak to tonight?”

Jamie’s tracked Tyler’s eyes but didn’t turn around. “There’s a few. Brett Hull and Sean Avery. They want to make deals I’d rather not know about. There’s Elizabeth Constance. I can’t decide if she wants to do business with me or marry me then kill me for the life insurance.”

“OK, there’s a guy giving you daggers over by the blackjack table. He’s got a chin with its own zip code.”

“That’s Brett Hull. He used to do a lot of business with our Family before I took over. He used to make machinery for the oil industry, but now he’s moved into restaurants.”

“Not a good investment?”

“We were basically his bank troubleshooters for a while. The last scheme he pitched to me was we’d burn down one of their locations. He’d get the insurance money and split it with us. Except I didn’t trust him to give us the money, or to not finger us for the crime. He likes to run his mouth off to people he shouldn't.”

“Well he looks mad, and he’s getting ready to come over here.”

Tyler put his hand on Jamie’s arm and leant in close. “Just don’t turn around, and look like we’re having a pretty intense conversation.”

“You’re never going to hold him back.”

Tyler winked. “Just play along.”

A second later they both felt a presence at their side.

“Jamie,” said Brett Hull, practically vibrating. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyler said, stepping right up into Jamie’s space. “He’s been avoiding mine too. Haven’t you?”

He gripped Jamie’s arm with a rather theatrical, though going by the look on Hull’s face, believable, grip and hissed. “I read those texts, who the hell is he? If you don’t tell me now that’s it, I’m walking away. You can’t be screwing all three of us at the same time Jamie, so who is it going to be? You’ve got to make a choice.”

Brett lost a lot of colour from his face very quickly, then his features crumpled into nauseous embarrassment.

“Sorry, Jamie. We can talk another time.”

They waited for him to be long gone before Tyler turned to Jamie and grinned triumphantly.

“You do realise you just outed me to most of the Dallas?”

“Oh come on, it’s Texas. You could order a rent boy up on stage right now and no-one in this room would let themselves believe it. It’s like a weird reverse homophobia they have down here.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Jamie said, laughing self consciously and turning his back on the small crowd that had looked over at Brett’s hasty retreat.

Tyler kept them at bay all night. He played up the role of Jamie’s good luck charm, insisting that a little ritual or hanging off his arm got him the luck he needed at the tables. It was all an act, really, they both knew that. But he saw the way Jamie looked at his lips as he made a show of blowing on the dice in his hand. He felt the surety in the way Jamie’s fingers gripped his waist to stop another would be small-talker getting in between them.

He couldn’t have got this wrong, surely. Jamie was enjoying Tyler flirting with him, no matter how pretend it was supposed to be. And he was giving as good as he got. If Jamie turned to Tyler one more time with a conspiratorial smile, just for him, right up against him so that he was pinned between Jamie and the table, then Tyler was going just jump him there and then.

Unless Jamie was just an incredibly good actor. Unless he was just good at playing the role.

Whatever it was, it was making Tyler hot and bothered. He excused himself to the bathroom to throw cold water on his face. He left Jamie flanked by Comeau and Radulov, who were both lacking in good Texan manners and unsmiling enough to keep any interested party at bay.

As Tyler was heading back out of the bathroom a hand caught his and spun him behind one of the room’s wall drapes. It was Jamie, smiling at him. It was a shy smile.

“What are we doing?”

“Elizabeth Constance stepped on Comeau’s foot with her stiletto and spilled red wine down Radulov’s shirt. I made a run for it before he could get to me.”

“Oh wow, well done her.”

“Yeah, they had no chance.”

They were standing toe to toe. How many times had they done this, Tyler thought. Stood close enough to feel the breath off one another, and not done anything about it. It was no wonder Tyler felt like he’d been suffering blue balls over the past month or so. Whatever magnetism that seemingly drew the two of them together was working on overdrive. He could feel it now, plucking at his lapels, tugging on his hands, goading him into reaching out and touching Jamie’s arms.

Instead he screwed his hands into fists. He had enough experience of falling for his boss. He didn’t need this all over again.

“You win anything?” Tyler asked, trying not to notice how Jamie was looking at his mouth.

“Is that a trick question?”

Tyler blinked dumbly back up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well I feel like I won you tonight,” Jamie said, his voice so quiet and low it sent something shivering up the back of Tyler’s neck. “Without you here I’d have been mobbed.”

“Oh, right. No problem. Just doing my job, boss.”

He was sure he felt it, Jamie’s fingers ghosting up his hand and to his wrist, the tension in his muscles in the moment he was about to move. Then the curtain snapped back and Radulov appeared, wine-stained and pissy.

“Where the fuck did you go boss? Oh, sorry.”

He stood there holding the curtain in his fist. The roulette wheel on the other side of their little hiding place drape clicked slowly towards a halt, and the players at the table only peeled their eyes off the sight of Tyler and Jamie once the clicking stopped.

Jamie was still looking down at Tyler, but his face had changed. He blinked slowly then levelled a cold look at Radulov.

“I was keeping out of the way.”

“Sorry boss. You said, after we sort out that lady, you are ready to go.”

Jamie nodded once.

“Give me a minute.”

He headed towards the bathrooms, Dickinson joining him to ensure no-one had the temerity to accost him at the urinals.

Tyler tugged the drape out of Radulov’s hand and pulled him behind it.

“What was going on there?” Radulov asked, his voice all syrupy and amused.

“Nothing. Nothing was going on, OK? Leave it alone Rads, seriously.”

Radulov smiled long and slow.

“What?”

“I say nothing.”

“Exactly. You say nothing. And remember that I understand some Russian. If I hear you say _anything _to Dobby in the car I’ll shoot you in the back of the head.”

Once Jamie rejoined them they exited to the car, leaving the party slowly turning into a riot. Jamie sat looking out at the window the whole trip home, unspeaking, his hands to himself. Tyler did the same on the other side, frowning into the darkness beyond the windows, trying to work out what the hell to do from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it's clear from this, but the past timeline has now drawn up to the present. So we're racing ahead with what happens in the present in Dallas!  
If you want to know what suit I was thinking Tyler was in, I imagined it something like this. https://weheartit.com/entry/169897897 
> 
> Also, that whole entry into the Dallas gala thing was totally inspired by this video, which was in fact the whole inspiration to start this fic.  
https://stupidsexyseguin.tumblr.com/post/182000705522/and-the-stars-continue-to-support-my-mafiaau


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where this chapter came from. It wasn't drafted or planned, and it's in a pretty different style to the rest, but I just felt the gala needed some follow up.

DALLAS

Tyler called Mo at 3am, feeling morose and woolly-headed from the drink. He longed for the days when he could knock back alcohol and it only made him feel more alive. 

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

“What time do you call this?”

“Toronto is a late night Family, you’re always up.”

“You were supposed to call me when you got back from LA,” Mo chastised, not sounding particularly serious.

“I have a life, you know. Something came up.”

“Oh yeah? Dallas keeping you busy?”

Tyler lounged back in his bed and switched off the bedside light. Marshall snored contentedly from his bed in the corner of the room.

“Pretty busy. Hey, I’m bringing Jamie up to Toronto in a couple weeks. Get him more familiar with you guys.”

“I heard. I won’t be around but I’m sure Mitchy will be excited to see you. He’s got too much business on his hands and not enough deals.”

“Dallas will be happy to take some of that off him I’m sure.”

“So, you finally convinced Jamie to come north of the border.”

“You knew about that?”

“Not hard to figure out.”

Mo moved around in his bed and a rustle of sheets cracked down the phone.

“Had a good night?”

“I had a day off and I slept in, which means now I can’t sleep. I think its the first day I had off since…I don’t know, my last stint in juvie.”

“I was talking about that with Jamie tonight. You know he never got banged up?”

“Really? Guy that size, I thought they’d just assume he was a violent one.”

“Apparently not. Seems Ontario got all the government money for putting kids away. He was asking about Connor, what I remembered of him.”

“You tell him the story about the guy in the shower?”

“Hell yeah. That’s one of my favourite stories.”

“You know that I looked him up? That guy he messed up, I can’t remember his name now, but it came to me one day and I looked him up. He works at the Ministry of Fisheries and Oceans or something.”

“So you’re saying if Connor McDavid ever wants a license to open a fishery he’s screwed?”

“Basically.”

“Good job he’s a career criminal then.”

“Well exactly.”

“Did the guy’s jaw look ok?”

“He looked kinda handsome, I got to admit. Maybe the surgery to restructure his whole mouth after Connor got a hold of him was a blessing in disguise. You know who else I ran into the other day? Brownie.”

Tyler winced. “God, I haven’t spoken to him in ages.”

“He told me. He didn’t seem too angry about it, he gets it.”

“I’m going to the best man at his wedding, I need to be a better friend. And before you say it, Freddie told me my Mom’s been calling you guys. I’m going to call her, I promise.”

“She worries about you.”

“I’m sorry she bothers you.”

“She doesn’t bother us, she just wants to know if you’re still alive. She’s got my number and Matty’s, she just sends us a text. She thinks we’d hear about it before she got the next of kin call. What has she had to say about you going to Dallas?”

“She sent me a box of things to decorate my new house. She keeps saying she’ll come and visit.”

“When did you last see her?”

“When I was still in hospital.”

This conversation was deep for this time of the night, when he was tipsy and sad. But it was what him and Mo had done many nights in juvie, one above the other in a creaky bunk bed, talking into the small hours in the darkness about everything. They rarely met face to face these days, but these phone calls were like their own locked room again. It was amazing what you could say to a person in the dark when you trusted them not to repeat a word of it.

“She’s not seen you since?”

“No.” Tyler ran a hand down his face. He really hadn’t thought about his Mom in a while. It caused something to stick sharply in his chest. “Think it freaked her out. And if she didn’t see me then it wasn’t real.”

“She still with that guy, Harry or whatever?”

“Hector. Yeah, as far as I’m aware.”

“Doesn’t he own a dry cleaners in Cabbagetown?”

“Yeah.”

“If he pisses you off do you want me to get Willy to set fire to it?”

Tyler knew Mo was only half joking, but the thought made him smile nonetheless. “If he touches a hair on my Mom’s head, I’ll be setting fire to him myself. For anything less than that then yeah, feel free to let the little pyromaniac do his thing.”

“So what else did you tell Jamie about our juvie days?” Mo asked, understanding from Tyler’s voice that it was time to swerve the topic of his Mom.

“Well I told him that’s where I met you. And that he didn’t miss out on anything fun.”

“Hey, we had some fun.”

“Sure, some. That soccer league you set up was the best thing about my stay.”

“I thought you’d have said it was the sex.”

“See that’s what I like about you, Mo. You get me.”

“Speaking of sex…”

“Wow, what a segue.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that why you asked me to call you? If you want to get your rocks off I find it hard to believe you can’t pick up in Toronto.”

“Don’t have time to pick up. You know what it’s like.”

No, but Tyler knew what Mo was like. He was a private guy, and he took his job seriously. The others in the Toronto Family -Matthews, Marner, Nylander, they were the public face. They could be seen in the Family run nightclubs and bars, they shook the hands and turned up to the wider Family network meetings. Morgan worked mostly in the shadows, doing what needed to be done. Tyler wasn’t surprised that he was cagey over who he let into his life. Tyler didn’t even know where the guy lived. Time wasn’t an issue for Mo, but his defence mechanism was. 

“Unless you’re not into that kind of thing anymore. I’ve heard you and Jamie have been getting along pretty well.”

Tyler sighed long and loud down the speaker. “Jesus, the Families are full of gossips. It’s like being surrounded by little old ladies.”

“We like a good romance.”

“Believe me there is no romancing going on here.”

“Really? Nothing? Matty had a few things to say about the two of you when he met you in LA. Said you two practically finished each others’ sentences.’

“Auston likes to make shit up. Ignore him.”

“Hm.”

“Look, I…I do like him, OK? He’s a good guy. I just can’t get drawn into that situation again.”

“Tyler. Jamie is not Patrice. Dallas is not Boston. It’s not the same situation.”

“It doesn’t even matter, Mo. He’s not interested. I kept thinking maybe he was, maybe this is what he wants. But every time I lean in it’s like he jumps back. And then I think I’ve misread him.”

“You’re pretty good at reading this sort of thing. I wouldn’t say that was the problem.”

Tyler knew his voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. The world felt shrunk down to the size of his dark room, and the sound of his dog snoring, and Mo’s voice on the phone like it’d been all those years ago, floating above him on the top bunk.

“I hope I don’t have it wrong.”

He heard more movement of covers over the line.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“But what about Jamie?”

“What about Jamie? I can’t cheat on a guy I’m not together with.”

“Fine. As long as it’s not weird for you.”

“It’s not.”

“Or me. If you call me ‘Jamie’ at any point during this, I’m hanging up.”

“Noted.”

* * *

Jordie wasn’t a great sleeper. He wasn’t sure if it was biological or just practice, but he didn’t seem to need a whole lot of it. He was always the one kid in the house that stayed up late and got up early. Jamie, on the other hand, could sleep anywhere at any time, and often did. He got cranky without an afternoon nap well into high school. Jordie once found him literally asleep in the shower. Their sister would moan on long car journeys when their Mum made them let Jamie spread across their laps in the back seat to sleep. Eventually she’d nod off and it would just be Jordie and his parents, who were careful about what they said in the front seats, knowing their middle child would always be awake and listening.

It was why he was awake fucking about on his laptop at 3.15am when Jamie walked in. It was only a few hours after he’d gone to bed after the gala, and the hair he'd styled for the night had fallen apart and collapsed into a messy thatch across his head. He looked younger than his years, but maybe that was because he was Jordie's baby brother. In Jordie's eyes he was never going to be old enough to deal with the world around him. 

“What are you doing?” Jamie asked. He’d walked in without knocking, as he always did. Privacy wasn’t something that really existed between the two brothers. He padded across the floor bare foot, walked straight onto the bed and folded himself under the covers. Jordie’s bed was King size, more than enough for the two of them, and Jamie spent some time arranging himself into a comfortable position under the blankets on the other side. 

“Just watching TV.”

“You’ve got a flat screen on the wall.”

“I’m just watching random stuff on YouTube, there’s no need to put it on the big screen.”

“You mean you’re old and you need glasses, because you can’t see anything far away.”

“Can you see this?” Jordie held up a middle finger, which was only illuminated by the glow from his laptop. He was watching a compilation of ‘biggest hockey hits’ and wondering nonsensically if he could join a beer league.

“Why are you awake?” he asked, letting the clips play quietly in the background.

“I had the dream,” Jamie said. He’d stuffed a few pillows under his head to prop himself up enough to see Jordie’s screen. He didn’t take his eyes off the clip of a Dallas forward steamrollering a Canucks defensemen into the boards.

“Been a while,” Jordie said, also not looking away from the screen. He knew Jamie didn’t want to confront the actual reality of The Dream - yeah, it was a big enough thing to be capitalised in Jordie's head these days - but he still had to ask. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. But I'm right in front of you now. I'm alive, I'm OK."

"I know that," Jamie said quietly. 

"Fine. You wanna talk about what happened at the gala?”

His brother frowned at him, looking tired.

“What do you mean?”

“You were in a shitty mood when you got back and Tyler didn’t come back here.”

“Why would he come back here? He has his own home.”

“Jamie-”

“Jordie, will you give it a rest?”

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to have fun, right Jamie? You having the things you want in life isn’t going to bring on the apocalypse.”

“I told you before to leave it alone.”

Jordie slammed the laptop shut, plunging the room into darkness. “And I told you, I’m tired of you complaining about something and not _doing _anything about it when the opportunity comes up.”

“What opportunity?”

“Are you fucking kidding at me? Look, this is really, really not something I want to notice someone doing to my baby brother, but when you came in the room the other day after swimming in the pool Tyler _licked his lips_. He was not subtle about it. Just get it over with already, have sex.”

Jamie waited a while before he spoke again. “You know it’s not about that.”

Jordie sighed. “No. I know. But that would be a start. Or at least put an end to whatever this is. Jamie, you can’t spend the rest of your life being miserable like some kind of penance.”

“It’s not a penance.”

“Then why can’t you let yourself be happy?”

“I am happy.”

“Why can’t you let yourself be happy with someone else?”

Jordie felt Jamie shrug his shoulders under the sheets. “It’s never come up before.”

“It has. You’re not a monk, Jamie, and I know this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this. The two of you are close, you’re friends, if this blows up in your face you can still be friends. It doesn’t have to change anything.”

Jamie stayed quiet at that. Because both of them knew that wasn’t the real problem, the real reason why Jamie stopped himself whenever someone floated onto his radar.

“You can’t let that ruin your life, Jamie,” Jordie said into the soft silence around them. Juice sighed and rolled over in his basket, blissfully unaware of the emotions his human owners tangled up their lives with. “I don’t even know where you get this fear from.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t. Mum and Dad are…fuck, that was so complicated, Jamie. That was like every shitty circumstance you can think of. They aren’t you. They aren’t you and Tyler.”

“I never said I wanted to marry the guy.”

“And if you do or you don’t, you’re still allowed to want it. And try for it.”

Jordie needed to change the track of this conversation. It wasn’t the sort of thing Jamie needed reminding of after The Dream.

“Radulov was smirking like crazy when he came back from the gala. I thought something had happened.”

“It could have. I was just tipsy enough. And Tyler decided the best way to stop me from getting harassed was by pretending to be my arm candy.”

“Wow.”

“He blew on my fucking dice before I rolled them.”

“He really is…not subtle.”

“No, he’s not. And I almost did it, I almost thought why not.”

Then that big, stupid brain of yours got in the way, Jordie thought, that and your complete inability to understand that a relationship isn’t a short way to ruin the people around you.

“Then Radulov appeared out of nowhere. Ruined the moment.”

“Oh god, I’m going to kill him.”

“It was good, Jordie. He works for me. It’s complicated.”

“Didn’t seem so complicated with Patrice.”

“Did you know Patrice didn’t tell him how he ended up here in Dallas? He assumed Patrice asked us and we said yes.”

“Well I bet Florida’s attack wasn’t the first time he’d thought about getting Tyler sent away. I know Chara was sniffing around for a way for him to go to somewhere like Colorado or Toronto on a trip and just not return. I’m sure Tyler picked up on it.”

“I don’t think he did.”

Jordie scratched at the mess that was his hair. He really needed to get it cut. “No, I guess not. He’s a bit of an idiot when it comes to Patrice. Did he seriously not hear all those rumours?”

“Seems not.”

“He’s a smart kid, but it’s like Patrice and Boston caused him interference. Like he was running on only eighty percent of his brain.”

“And now we’ve got one hundred percent of it.”

“Don’t sound so fucking proud and turned on by that in my bed, please. Look, I’m going to try and go to sleep. Just…next time there’s a moment when you think something might happen, and Radulov isn’t cockblocking you, lean in. OK? Lean in and turn your brain off.”

“Good night Jordie.”

“Yeah, good night. Don’t snore.”

“Ugh, what’s that smell, was that you?”

“No, it was Juice. You sleep in here, you get gassed by the dog. Shut up and go to sleep.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * warning * for something that you probably wouldn't expect to come across in this universe: (brief) mention of the loss of a newborn baby.

Jamie didn’t say anything about what had happened - what had almost happened - at the gala. Not that Tyler was really expecting him to. After all, touching a guy’s wrist wasn’t exactly something that required ‘a talk’. They weren’t in Victorian England.

Not that it was the touch that Tyler had been turning over and over in his head for days. It was the look in Jamie’s eye.

And now, both Benn brothers were behaving strangely around him. He caught Jordie staring at him when he thought he wouldn’t notice. Jamie didn’t seem to want to look at Tyler at all.

It all gave Tyler a headache, a headache he didn’t need to be dealing with. He had his own problems, Jamie aside. Bish was trying to wean him off some of his medication, and he was a knot of aches and pains and nausea. His chest thrummed with his racing heart day and night, enough that he demanded Ben check he wasn’t having a stroke. He wasn’t exactly comforted when Bish told him this was just a side affect of coming off his meds.

When Jamie called him into his office a few days later, Tyler wasn’t expecting good news. He just didn’t expect it to be this.

“You’re sending me to Colorado.” Tyler repeated at his boss, his voice sharp.

“I need you to give it a check up for me, find out how everything is going. Take Rads. And Blake, he knows those guys.”

Tyler didn’t move from the chair across Jamie’s desk. Jamie went back to his phone.

“Why?”

“I just told you. It needs a check up.”

“Colorado?”

“Yes.”

Tyler scowled across the mahogany at his boss, daring him to look up, to look him in the eye and tell him he was doing nothing but sending Tyler away to not have to deal with him.

“How long?”

“How long do you need? Four days, five.”

“Five days?”

“I said however long you need, you tell me.”

“And why do Colorado need a check up now, exactly?”

“You haven’t been to Colorado whilst working for me. Dallas own them, I need to know what’s going on there.”

“And, what, you can’t go on your own?”

Jamie finally looked up from his phone. He looked like he was in the exact same pissy mood as Tyler felt. “Isn’t that why I hire you?”

Tyler took that as a dismissal, so he got up from the seat and left. It was petulant to slam the door after him, but he didn’t care.

* * *

Tyler glared into the middle distance the entire flight to Denver. He had Comeau on one side and Radulov on the other, and both pretended not to hear Tyler grind his teeth. They had a rocky landing into Denver and all three of them were green about the gills when they stumbled out of arrivals.

“I know where we pick up car.”

“No, it’s this way.”

“Map say this way!”

“I lived in Colorado for three years, I know where the car rental place is, it’s _this_ way.”

“Rads, just listen to Blake.”

“You’re going the wrong way dickheads!” A voice bellowed over the passenger pick-up area, making every cab driver turn their heads and the three from Dallas jump.

Nathan Mackinnon was standing by his big black truck, smirking at the fright he’d put into his visitors. Tyler raised a hand and crossed the lanes of crawling cars to where Nate had illegally parked on the walkway.

“We ordered a car.”

“Gabe intercepted, sent me to pick you up.”

Nathan Mackinnon embodied everything there was to know about the Colorado Family: young, tenacious, with a loyalty bordering on the manic. In a Family where the Captain had about six right hand men, Nate was at the top of the pack. Tyler wondered if they wanted to impress Dallas by sending Nate to pick them up, or whether Nate wanted a chance to snoop before the rest of his Family could.

Tyler shook Mackinnon’s hand and introduced Radulov. Mackinnon and Comeau shared a hug, and the group piled themselves into the truck. It was snowing with an unforgiving windchill, and a flurry of sleet speckled the car’s windshield as they hit the highway.

“You’re going soft down there in Dallas,” Nate commented as Tyler sank into his coat.

“I think I suit a warmer climate.”

“More excuses to take your clothes off.”

Nate swung the car towards their exit at the last minute, ignoring the blare of a horn behind him.

“Gabe can’t meet you until tonight, but you’re to make yourselves at home at the ranch.”

The Colorado branch of the Family was now run out of Dallas, but they had been a hub of a lot of allied Family activity for years. In the 90s, the hey day of the North American Family network, a group from Quebec had stabbed their masters in Montreal in the back. They’d fled to Denver, one place untouched by the reach of the Family. Montreal had demanded the larger American families went in and handed them over. Instead, Boston stepped in and threatened the small group into becoming part of their own network. It turned out these runaways and backstabbers were actually very good at their jobs running hotels, taking bets, managing strip clubs and laundering money. It was a good move by Boston and over the years a lot of Families - allied or enemy - had tried to make a claim to the Colorado group violently or through coercion, and they’d not been successful.

Despite their success one of Patrice’s first moves when he took over the day-to-day reigns from Chara was to dump Colorado from their books. Back then Boston had been struggling financially, and Colorado took just a little too much money for their reward. Patrice sold their stake in Colorado’s businesses to Dallas.

Gabriel Landeskog had been in charge in Colorado for some years and the Family was flourishing under him. He had an office in Downtown Denver in one of the higher end hotels they ran, and a large ranch just outside of the city, a place for activities that swerved left of the norm for a Family revenue stream.

The ranch was about an hour’s drive from the airport, and it didn’t take long for Comeau and Radulov to sack out in the back seats, happy for someone else to take over watching Tyler fume.

Nate and Tyler didn’t talk much, but Tyler got the feeling that he was being carefully and quietly assessed. It was how he always felt with Nate.

Tyler reached a hand back and slapped Radulov awake as they trundled down the driveway to Landeskog’s ranch. The steady rhythm of snoring stopped.

“Nice to be back,” said Comeau as they rumbled into the car lot.

They stepped out of the truck and the sounds and smells of fourteen racehorses hit them in the face. This was Denver’s hallmark, what Jamie had let nurture and what had surprised the other bosses. Instead of making money betting on horses, they raced the horses themselves.

Tyler slung his bag over his shoulder and watched as a stablehand led a chestnut horse across the yard. Tyler didn’t know much about horses, but even he knew it was beautiful specimen.

Nate and Blake had bunched up on the other side of the truck to talk, and Tyler found himself unattended and instantly bored. He wandered over to the stableyard, following a high pitched whinny.

Twenty stables were laid out in two rows of eight, with four more at the far end creating a U shape. A low decorative hedge ran up the middle, smattered with pink and white flowers struggling against the wind. A few stablehands chatted at one end, one of them with a saddle braced over his arm. Some of the stable doors were open and the warm smell of straw floated through. Tyler meandered down the first few stalls, peering in at thoroughbreds. They probably had better accommodation than he did this weekend.

He made it to the fifth or so stable when he heard a voice come from inside one of the stalls.

“Wow, look what the cat dragged in.”

Tyler stopped and looked over his shoulder. A beautiful black gelding stared back at him, his head hanging over the stable door with the haughty air of a well bred animal.

“Am I going mad? A talking horse?”

His eyes picked out Erik Johnson in the gloom.

“Oh look, I was right. A talking horse.”

Erik moved up to the door and nudged the gelding over enough to get out, whilst the animal in question began to sniff Tyler’s shoulder.

“Tyler Seguin. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

They shook hands, Erik’s six foot four frame towering over Tyler. He had a piece of straw in the quiff of his hair he’d created by running a dusty hand through it.

Tyler took a big step away from the horse.

“He’s just saying hello.”

“It’s chewing me.”

“_It_? Don’t call my horses an it. You’re an it. Look at you.” Erik nearly said something, caught himself, then started up again. Tyler pretended not to notice. “You’ve got a tan, for a start.”

“Well it’s hot in Dallas.”

“You ever heard of sun screen?”

“I don’t think I’ll last long enough for skin cancer to be a concern. I’ll take my chances.”

Erik shook his head and began to walk away towards the far corner of the yard. 

“The place is looking good,” said Tyler, following along behind.

“That’s what happens when you make money. We were able to refurbish everything from top to bottom.”

Erik let him into the white-washed buildings in a corner of the stableyard and Tyler was grateful to step inside out of the chill. The rooms had been given a lick of paint and nicer furniture, but it was still the same formation. Erik Johnson as head stable manager on the left. Carl Soderberg as their business operations manager on the right, and straight ahead an empty space where the two men kept their overflow of crap. Tyler pointed to Carl’s door as Erik let them into his office.

“He still around?”

“Not today he’s not. But in general, yes. Play nice if you see him.”

Once inside Tyler immediately perched on the edge of Erik’s desk. Just like old times.

“So how’s the boy wonder doing?”

“What, Gabe? No complaints here. Although maybe I should be concerned if Jamie is sending you up here.”

Tyler shook his head and tried not to sound too bitter. “Just a check up. And I need to get more familiar with you guys now.”

“You’ve got to know us pretty well over the years.”

“That’s different. I was working for Boston then. I need to learn what you’re getting up to now.”

EJ smiled easily. He wasn’t wearing his teeth, so the grin was familiarly gap-toothed.

“Well, even if you’re a spy for the boss, it’s good to have you. How long you guys staying?”

“Four days.”

“At the ranch?”

“Yep. You got some rookies I can help torture?”

“You know the rules. You want to watch the fun, you’ve got to get your hands dirty.”

Erik ‘EJ’ Johnson had once been one of the most feared enforcers in the St Louis Family. As a teenager he made a name for himself for ruthless efficiency when it came to getting his point across. It was before Tyler’s time, but he’d heard the story of what happened next. Johnson’s girlfriend at the time became pregnant - given they were both nineteen and without a penny to their names, it was unsurprisingly an accident. They’d barely had time to get used to the idea when she reached her due date and tragically gave birth to a stillborn baby. In grief they both went their separate ways. St Louis took pity on his desire to get out of the area and, since Colorado always needed help, gave him the choice to work there. He did his old job there for a few years before having what Gabe had decided to refer to as ‘a come to Jesus’ moment. Whatever epiphany it was, spiritual or otherwise, EJ never spoke about it. But his path in life changed overnight and he gave up any form of violence his old job had entailed. Colorado was a forgiving place and had already taken him into their fold, so he was allowed to meander around trying to find his way for some time. He found his place in the Colorado stables. It didn’t take long before he was in charge of the whole operation. The fearsome reputation he’d built over the years followed him, and his missing teeth and height didn’t hurt, but he was a sweetheart at heart. Tyler had liked him the moment he’d met him, and it seemed mutual. The whole time Tyler stayed in Colorado, EJ kept an eye on him. He’d taught him a lot. 

“You’re like my nice cool uncle who looks after me and keeps me from doing stupid shit,” Tyler said one night when EJ poured him into bed after a drinking contest in the ranch bar.

“Uncle? Segs, I’m like four years older than you.”

“Cool older brother then. I don’t care. I love you EJ.”

Erik had accepted the sloppy kiss to the cheek and then tucked him in so tight he couldn’t move and get into more trouble.

Tyler was glad to see EJ was still as tolerant of him as ever, and was happy to let Tyler trail after him around the ranch. He introduced Tyler to new people, showed him the things that had changed, caught him up on life in Colorado.

“You doing OK?” Erik asked finally, and Tyler knew they’d got to the point where he’d actually have to talk about what happened to him in Florida. They had gone as far as the west wing of the ranch, where all the higher-ups in the Family had their apartments. EJ complained that his knee was killing him and they needed to sit down, so they took over the outdoor couch that looked onto the pool. In typical Denver fashion, the weather had changed and now the balmy sun basked from a blue sky.

“Yeah. I’m doing alright.”

“How’s Dallas?”

“It’s amazing. Yeah. It’s like everything I could have asked for in a new place. But sometimes…well, I still don’t know if I fit in there.”

Erik hummed. “Well, it’ll take time Tyler. And you’re still recovering. You can’t be feeling back to normal yet.”

Tyler blew out a lot of air. “No. Not really. I mean, I’m _better_. But I don’t think I’ve felt back to normal yet.”

“And what about Jamie Benn?”

Tyler took a moment to think about that before he spoke. “Something happened last week and I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“He was flirting with me. Like, hard core flirting. We went to this Dallas gala thing, because he had to, and he asked me to be his plus one. He took me out for dinner beforehand. It was kind of, well, romantic. I could have sworn he was about to kiss me at one point. Radulov turned it up and ruined the moment, but it was fucking confusing. What’s that face for?”

Erik shook his head. “Only you, Tyler, could be tortured by the idea of a nice guy flirting with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You flirt with everyone and everything. If I left you alone long enough with the horses you’d flirt with them. But you’re not so good when it comes back to you. If it’s a douchebag in a bar you’re in your element. Or someone you need to get information or money out of. If it’s someone nice, with good intentions, you freak out.”

“I do not.”

Erik raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“OK. Don’t believe me. But if _Jamie Benn _is flirting with you, I can guarantee it means something other than him wanting to get in your pants.”

Tyler let that sit there for a moment.

“So, he flirted with you. What next?”

“Nothing. Radulov interrupted us and he got weird. The last week he’s barely spoken to me. Then suddenly he sends me up here. It was like he was trying to get rid of me.”

“So Colorado is just a form of punishment for you guys?”

“Shut up EJ, this story is not about you. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

Erik sighed. “Look, I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of Jamie Benn’s mind. But he doesn’t seem like a guy who takes risks. He probably got a bit overexcited and amorous and then in the cold light of day the risk of being with his second in command made him feel queasy. And he reacted badly.”

Tyler shook his head. “Wow. You are wasted on those horses EJ.”

“I’m an adult, Seggy. Looking at this from the outside, it’s not exactly hard to work out.”

A horse whinnied somewhere over at the stables. Inside, a door slammed shut and a phone started ringing. Tyler and EJ sat in silence listening to the background noises of life on the ranch for a long while. When Tyler lifted his head Erik was looking right at him.

“What?”

“How do you really feel about Jamie flirting with you?”

Tyler’s reflex was to make a joke, but it all felt too ugly and raw in his chest. “I’m flattered. And I like him.”

“Well there you go.”

“Apparently when I had a concussion a few years ago I proposed sex to him under a staircase at Jagr’s funeral.”

“How is that the least surprising story I’ve heard about you?”

“But he’s not giving anything back. Or if he does, it frightens him. Maybe he just doesn’t want to get work and personal stuff mixed up.”

“Maybe he’s frightened Patrice will come after him with a baseball bat.”

Tyler was about to rebuke him when a thumping sound came from above them. They craned their necks to see Nate banging a fist against a second storey window. He lifted his phone, pointed at it meaningfully, then disappeared. Erik checked his phone.

“I’m being summoned. I’ll see you tonight. I presume you’ll be wherever there are free drinks.”

Tyler held up his middle finger until EJ was out of sight. 

* * *

The Dallas guests spent the rest of the afternoon settling in. Tyler and Radulov were being lodged in two guest suites with adjoining doors on the east side of the ranch, while Blake was bunking in with his old friend Ian Cole. Once Tyler had showered and shaved he wandered into Radulov’s suite without knocking and found the Russian standing at the sliding French doors in his room. He was staring out into the Rockies with his eyes half narrowed against the last blast of the sun.

“What do you think of Colorado?” Tyler asked Radulov’s back.

“It smells bad.”

“Bad?

“Like horse shit. That’s what it smell like.”

“I think that’s because we’re on a working ranch. The whole of Denver doesn’t smell like this.”

Alex gestured with his head for Tyler to join him. It was late afternoon, tipping into early evening, and the sun hung low enough to bring the temperature all the way down. Tyler felt goosebumps stand up all along his arm as the air hit him.

“Is that him?” asked Radulov, pointing with a hand over the edge of the balcony. Their two suites faced out onto the tree-lined sandy driveway that pierced rural darkness from the main road to the ranch. An arch of high-voltage lights flooded the forecourt where the cars were parked, pushing away any soft evening light. The stables were to their left and on the right an assembly of garages and car ports kept the Colorado family’s vehicles tucked up safely at night. A black SUV had rumbled to a stop on the forecourt, and Nate was standing with his feet planted firmly on the tarmac, like he’d known exactly where its owner would park.

A man stepped out the driver’s side and the harsh lights picked out the flashing blonde of his hair. “Yep. That’s Gabriel Landeskog.”

Someone emerged out of the passenger side and Tyler didn’t need more than a moment to recognise Tyson’s Barrie shape in the half-darkness. Nate walked up close to Gabe and they spoke, heads bent together.

Tyler had been sceptical when he’d heard about Patrice farming off the Colorado arm of their Family. Colorado had always proved adaptable and fiercely loyal. If they got themselves into a hole, they dug themselves out. They’d yet to step on anyone’s toes and made decent money. And Gabriel Landeskog was a more than capable Captain. Warm, affable, everybody’s best friend, but a guy who, if pushed, could beat the snot out of someone.

And now, Tyler was glad that Dallas could reap the rewards of stepping in. It still stung somewhere in his chest that he could be happy about Dallas over Boston now.

“You ever met Gabe before?”

“No. I hear he never leaves Denver.”

“Not never, but yeah…rarely.”

“I’ve heard they’re weird,” said Radulov.

“The Colorado guys?” Tyler let out a little huff of laughter. “They just like each other’s company and no-one else. They let other people in to stay all the time, but you never truly belong here unless you’re one of them.”

“You stayed here, right? Few years ago?”

“Five years ago,” Tyler corrected. Five years ago when he was scrawny and baby-faced, and surviving only on his brain and an addiction to coffee and bad food. He’d been flush with excitement at being sent to Denver - The Farm. The nickname was supposed to be a mockery of the FBI agents who followed them, but it felt just cool enough to stick permanently.

It became tradition for the east coast Families and their allies to send rookies who needed the conditioning - a bit of toughening up and sorting out - over to Colorado. Despite being owned most of its history by the east coast, Colorado was considered neutral territory. It was where the Family Summits took place and where deals were arbitrated if they came to a sticking point. It was a perfect place for rookies to remain loyal to their Families whilst learning from others. It helped build allegiances. Not everyone was sent, but the ones that bosses could see a future of climbing the ladder were usually booked in for a three month stay. Tyler had been working for years in Toronto and even some time in Boston before he was told he was going. No-one warned him beforehand what the Farm was like, and he’d been too excited to care.

It turned out to be three months of getting the shit kicked out of him by hard work, the weather, and other people. But it did the job.

“What was it like?”

Tyler smiled. “Fun.”

They watched as Gabe and Nate finished up the conversation, and then the trio disappeared into the ranch house beneath them.

* * *

Tyler gave Radulov and Comeau the night off. Radulov had a habit of finding Russians wherever he went, and by nightfall had already made friends with a guy called Nikita Zadorov from the Colorado Family. He promised to take Radulov to a good banya in Denver and they happily drove off together in the early evening. Comeau had old friends to catch up with on the ranch, and Tyler wasn’t surprised when he disappeared the minute he was dismissed.

So Tyler was alone when Tyson Barrie appeared at his bedroom door.

Barrie was five foot eight of seemingly boundless energy. If Nate was an exact replica of a Colorado man, then Tyson was the original they copied him from. He kept Gabriel Landeskog happy, sane, on track, and very much alive. He hadn’t changed much in the year or so since they’d last met - except for his hair, which curled more exuberantly on the top of his head.

“Look at this. It’s like old times,” Tyson said, giving Tyler an enthusiastic hug. “Come on, Gabe’s invited you up to his place. We can leave the business to tomorrow, but we should catch up.”

Gabe had a spacious apartment on the top floor of the west wing building, but he also had a cosy office with a fireplace tucked away in a hard to find corner of the main building. It had a small bar along one wall, a fireplace, comfy armchairs and a couch. Truthfully, it was a place for Gabe and the Family guys he called his close friends to hang out and pretend to work.

When Tyler and Tyson arrived Nate was already taking up an armchair and drinking a beer. He had Gabe’s pitbull Zoe stretched across his lap, happily panting dog breath into Nate’s face. EJ was there too, lounging on the couch and pretending not to be feeding Zoe chips.

Gabe stood as Tyler entered and shook his hand, perfectly polite and smiling as always. There were a lot of guys with hidden sides in the Families, and yet Tyler would rate Gabe as one of the most surprising. An absolute gentleman through and through, but also a cut throat guy who got the job done in a way other Families begrudgingly admired.

“How’s Dallas treating you?” asked Gabe. His accent had blurred over the years. He’d started out sounding like a Swede who learnt English the American way, then slowly moved to a neutral United States burr with occasional European spikes. Gabe was a bit of an anomaly like that.

“Good,” Tyler said, neutral as possible. “Different to Boston.”

“You getting on with Jamie?”

Tyler felt EJ’s stare burn into the back of his head. “We’re feeling each other out.”

Gabe lifted his phone from his desk and came to join them by the fireplace. “You’ll have to consult Tys here if you want tips. He’s old friends with Benn.”

“Really? How old?” Tyler asked. He was genuinely surprised. He’d known Tyson for years and it had never come up. He thought he knew everything there was to know about Tyson Barrie.

“We’ve known each other since we were ten. Jordie tried to kiss my sister in ninth grade and she kicked him in the balls. Jamie and I were the ones laughing loudest in the playground. Friends ever since,” Tyson said with a grin that spoke of his delight at having got something past Tyler Seguin of all people.

“Wow. Did not know that.”

“Not much time for us to meet up these days.”

“So why did Jamie send me here and not come himself to see you?”

Tyson turned away from the fire and flashed Tyler a beatific smile that made Tyler clench his jaw.

Gabe changed the subject. “Heard you went with Jamie to LA?”

Tyler spent a long moment ignoring the question, looking hard at the profile of Tyson’s relaxed face as he stared into the fire. But Tyson didn’t rise to it.

“Er, yeah. About a week ago. Hey, did you guys know Matt Martin is in Toronto now?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, he was there. And not just on the payroll, he was allowed at the big boy table.”

“Who is he protecting?”

“Well he was there with Matthews, but I got the feeling Freddie’s got his ass well covered. I’m guessing Marner or Willy.”

“Kapanen doesn’t let more than two inches get between him and Nylander, he certainly wouldn’t let a newcomer be inserted into that gap. I bet Matt is covering Mitchy.”

“I don’t envy the guy that has to keep an eye on either of those two. Mitch does everything except what he’s meant to, and Willy sets fire to anything not already in flames.”

“That guy is a pain in the ass,” Gabe added bitterly into his glass. “He’s not allowed here unless he leaves his lighters at Denver airport.”

“Oh Gabe, thought you had a soft spot for anyone from your homeland.”

“I don’t care where he’s from, if that little asshole sets fire to anything on this ranch then I’ll set fire to his pubic hair. So what happened in LA?”

“Jamie had a request for Kopitar, but they were a little distracted. They’re missing one of their guys.”

Tyler didn’t miss the quick flash of Gabe’s eyes towards Nate.

“Who?”

“Kempe. Went to Florida to quality test some product and never came back. Huberdeau over there swears blind he saw him at the warehouse and they said goodbye with no problem. But he’s not been seen since. And his brother in Arizona and Los Angeles are all ready to accuse Florida. He’s not particularly senior, but they’re concerned about him.”

“Adrian Kempe,” said Gabe, eyes suddenly hard.

“Yeah. You know him?”

“He’s Swedish. I didn’t know he was missing.”

“They’re getting the word out there, when they can. They thought I might know something about what’s going on down there.”

“And do you?”

“No.”

Gabe shook his head. “I can’t be much help. I will keep my ear to the ground. But I hope he’s found.”

He gave another look to Nate, who didn’t meet his gaze. Tyler filed that look away to pick apart later.

“We do too.” Tyler sank the rest of his drink in one. “But hey, I really don’t want to talk about Florida. What’s been going on since I last visited?”

The five of them got progressively more drunk as the night went on. Nate eventually went to sleep and took up snoring in his armchair. He remained pinned by Zoe and his now empty beer bottle teetered dangerously in his slack hand. EJ went quiet and spent his time throwing nuts into Nate’s open mouth. Zoe lapped up all of the ones that missed their target. Gabe excused himself to take a call and never returned.

That left Tyler and Tyson in their own drunken bubble, swapping stories about the various people they knew from different parts of the continent.

“Hey, you remember that night in here with Erik Karlsson?”

Tyler frowned. He didn’t remember any night with Karlsson.

“You know, after the Summit in, oh, 2013 maybe? He was throwing a loaded gun around with Ovi.”

Tyler definitely did not remember that. He took another drink and shrugged.

“Florida just…it screwed with my memory. I lost whole pieces.”

“Sorry man. Fuck Florida.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said on a sigh. “Fuck ‘em.”

“But you’re…ok now, right? Like, back to normal?”

Tyler smiled slyly. “Do you mean does my dick still work?”

Tyson laughed. “Oh yeah, I wish. Things have changeda bit though now, haven’t they?”

Tyler frowned. He hadn’t come here with the intention to sleep with Tyson but hey, it usually happened that way. He knew that Tyson was very much like him, in that sex didn’t have to mean anything between the two of them to be fun, or comforting, or a thrill.

“Why have things changed?”

“You’re with Dallas now.”

“And?”

Tyson turned to him, his face unusually serious. “Come on. Do you want me to say it?”

“You’re going to have to because I’m not getting it.”

“Well…Jamie.”

“What about him?”

Tyson sighed and looked back to the fire. “I know you’ve never cared about not dipping your pen in the company ink, but it’s different this time. He’s my old friend.”

“Dipping my…what the hell are you talking about? Jamie and I aren’t sleeping together.”

“Oh,” Tyson said, after an uncomfortable moment. He wouldn’t look at Tyler. “Sorry.”

“What, you just assume that now I’ve moved to a different Family I’m automatically trying to fuck the boss? Like in Boston?”

“Jesus, did I say that at _all_?”

“No you didn’t, but you were trying very hard to.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Sorry. I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood _what_? Me? You thought I was the guy who liked to screw his way to the top?”

“Oh my god, that wasn’t what I was saying at all. Never mind, I just got it wrong ok?”

“I’m not fucking Jamie, believe me.”

“Fine,” Tyson snapped, still looking at the fire.

“What?”

“Nothing. Fine. I get it. Sorry.”

“So if you get it, what now?”

“Jamie is my friend. It’s different now.”

“What, I’m not to be touched? Did Jamie tell you that?”

“No! Jesus Segs, stop trying to make this into something it isn’t.”

Tyler bit down on his tongue. EJ had stopped his game and was looking at the pair of them. Tyler couldn’t stand the expression in his eyes, something like sadness and pity. He stood up and banged his glass onto the side table, jerking Nate out of his sleep.

“See you tomorrow,” he said quietly, letting himself out.

* * *

Whilst Tyler had stayed in Colorado as a rookie, EJ had taught him how to throw a deadly punch so that his first one counted. He showed him how to use his body weight against an opponent who was bigger than him. He gave him hell after a gonorrhoea scare. He warned him that he had a tell when he was nervous. He stopped him from getting into trouble more than a few times at the Farm - when he broke curfew or went somewhere he shouldn’t, with someone he shouldn’t.

So it wasn’t a surprise when there was a knock on his suite door a little later and Erik was leaning against the door jamb.

“Tyson says he fucked up.”

Tyler sighed and stalked back out onto the balcony where he’d been sulking. He heard Erik shut the door and follow after him.

“I think you’re taking what he said the wrong way.”

“Ok great, so it’s my fault?”

“I also think he didn’t explain himself properly. Tyson never does. Are you still drinking?” Erik had spotted the empty tumbler in front of Tyler, wet with the last of the whisky.

“And?”

Erik plucked the glass off the table, then leant over Tyler’s lap and snapped up the bottle from the tiled floor. He went inside and made a big show of washing the glass up in the sink.

“There,” he said as he sat in the other chair. “That’s better.”

Tyler grunted.

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“Well I’ve grown up. And so have you. Gone are the days it’s ok to drown your sorrows in too much whisky. So, what happened?”

“He pissed me off,” Tyler grumbled. “Apparently I’m ‘off limits’ because he assumed I’m sleeping with my new boss. You know, because that’s what I always do.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that. He just misunderstood something from Jamie, I think.”

“There’s no need for him to be talking to Jamie about me at all.”

“Come on, they’re old friends. They tell each other everything.”

“Jamie doesn’t even like me. I mean…we’re friends, and I thought maybe something more. But I guess now. I guess I’m too much for him.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been doing good things in Dallas so far.”

“I’ve been doing things my way. He said he was OK with it. Maybe not.”

“You ever think he’s just letting you get on with it? You hate being told what to do.”

Tyler laughed. “I’m in the wrong line of work to dislike being given orders.”

“Fuck that. You need to go and do your own thing. If someone gives you an order you tend to do the opposite and get yourself in trouble. I’ve known that the minute you arrived here. I’m sure Jamie sees it too.”

“I did just fine doing what I was told in Boston. Sometimes in Dallas I feel like I’m a kid again, like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“No, in Boston you only did what you were told to do when it was convenient to you. And you were charming and good enough at your job to not get into trouble over it. Chara hoped we could beat that out of you here in Colorado, but it never worked. It irritated him, but in a way it suited Patrice. He liked you off the Boston leash, doing what you needed to do. But as his problems got worse, you started to mismatch with the way Boston was going.”

Tyler knew he was staring, wide eyed and suddenly clammy with fury.

Erik had that same look in his eye that he had earlier.

“Tyler, you weren’t a Boston guy.”

“I was a Boston guy for years.”

“Not enough. Come on, I saw it when you arrived here all those years ago. You hated all their rules, all their traditions, the way they did things because that was ‘the way’ the east coast had done them for years. The old Families demanded an obedience you didn’t want to give.”

Tyler’s mouth was dry.

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not and you know it,” Erik said easily, like he wasn’t ripping up Tyler’s own idea of himself in front of his very eyes. “What was going to happen with you and Patrice as the years went by? You think you two could just keep sleeping together, not truly being a couple?”

Tyler shook his head, floundering. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“There was no option for what you two were. You’d have to marry him and give up your job, or keep away from him. Don’t tell me you didn’t know Chara was whispering in his ear about this all the time.”

Tyler suddenly realised he was leaning forward in his seat.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh wow. You really didn’t know.”

“Erik, what was he saying?”

Erik rubbed a hand across his face. “We all thought you knew.”

“We?”

“Well, anyone else who heard it, I imagine. We all thought you just ignored it. But Chara was not happy about you and Patrice.”

Tyler’s brain tried to sift through every time he’d ever seen or spoken to Chara about or with Patrice. It was too much to sort through but surely he would have noticed his boss’s boss looking at them with some sort of disapproval.

“Plenty of people heard it. He didn’t really make a secret of bad mouthing the two of you sleeping together.”

“What had it got to do with him? Patrice is the Captain.”

“Patrice is Captain but Chara is still involved, he’s still the figurative head in Boston. You know that. He still deals with things when he has to, he came to the Summits for years after Bergeron took over. And if Boston is old school, then Chara is the headmaster. He likes things exactly the way they were back in the old days. And in the old days, a Captain couldn’t fuck around with one of his own and that person still do their job. They either married outside the Family or they gave up working for them.”

“We weren’t going to get _married_.”

“That was worse. Chara was under thirty when he got married. And Bergeron is, what, 34? Older than me, anyway. If he wasn’t going to get married then fine, but fucking around with a younger guy in the Family that everyone knew about? That’s not Chara’s idea of Boston behaviour.”

Tyler dropped back in his seat. He felt winded.

“Look I don’t know if anything is going to happen between you and Jamie. But if it were, you could just sleep with him, or marry him, hell even have a bunch of kids with him, all whilst doing your job....no-one would care. They’re a new kind of Family. Boston would never let you and Patrice be what you wanted.”

Erik broke his gaze to look out at the mountain tops.

“I get that’s not what you want to hear. I’m not exactly glad about the way it came about, but I’m happy you’re out of Boston. I think it might have happened anyway. You’re free from whatever was sinking you there. I know we haven’t seen each other for a while, but you’re happier. It’s clear. Even after all that’s happened to you.”

Tyler was silent for a long time. He joined Erik looking out at the Rockies, but he didn’t see anything. His vision blurred, hot and watery. He remembered to breathe and it came out ragged.

“That’s nothing to do with what Tyson and I were talking about,” he said eventually, his voice a whisper.

“I know. Sorry. I got off topic. I just came to say that Tyson got the wrong end of the stick and you decided to beat him with the other end. You’ve got plenty of time to make it up to each other. But don’t expect him to jump into bed with you for some old time fun. You’re too close to his best friend, who after all is your boss. It’s an uncomfortable position for Tyson. Don’t read anything into it. Just respect it.”

“OK,” Tyler said, forcing his lungs back into their usual rhythm.

Later, after Erik had left, Tyler noticed that he’d taken the whisky bottle with him.

* * *

Tyler lasted until three in the morning before he couldn’t stand the pressure in his chest. He found his way mostly by muscle memory through the dark to Tyson’s apartment in the opposite wing of the building.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said.

“Huh?” Tyson said back, only one eye open and the other one screwed up almost closed.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Hmm,” Tyson mumbled after a long moment looking at him. “You were being seriously oversensitive.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I was being a dick. I’m sorry too.”

“That’s ok.”

Tyson took a deep breath.

“Good. I don’t like falling out with you. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“It’s also weird that you’re a guy I used to sleep with and now you’re working with my oldest friend.”

Tyler didn’t really know what to say to that.

“OK.”

“Just…talk to Jamie, will you? When you get back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Fine. Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“EJ said that, back in the day, Chara used to disapprove of Patrice and I. Did you know that?”

Tyson rested his head against the doorframe.

“Everyone knew that. I thought _you_ knew that. He was happy to let Patrice manage you the way he wanted, but when it came to sleeping with him? Nah, Chara wasn’t happy. Did you not know that?”

“I guess I do now.”

“OK. Well…can we talk about it more tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Now go away. I need my beauty sleep.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote all this then sat back and said to myself 'wow, you've literally just written thousands of words about these guys shirtlessly beating each other up then having a naked hot tub discussion'. This is what happens when you drink a bit of wine and do some writing, folks.

The sky was blue-black and cluttered with clouds chugging determinedly over the Rockies and towards The Ranch. It was heading towards twilight but the storm had chastened on the darkness, hurrying the day into an early finish. Earlier that afternoon the sun had been clear and sparkling, but Colorado weather never liked to rest on its laurels. 

“Ah Denver, never change,” Tyler said into the wind. Nate must have heard him because he cracked a smile.

The Dallas visitors had spent the day doing the job they’d been sent to do. Tyler sat with Gabe and talked through the books, their deals, where the money for and from the horses came and went. It was mind numbingly boring, but Tyler could see that Jamie had a point. A lot of things had changed since he’d last dealt with Colorado and he needed to know as many of them as he could. When Gabe was called away on other business, Nate replaced him.

It hadn’t exactly brightened Tyler’s day when Nate told him that the small bit of business they did with Florida was gone. Ekblad had stopped taking their calls. When it came time for Colorado to make a monthly payment they withheld it, and when no chase came from Florida they dropped it. Tyler tried not to notice the way Nate avoided looking at him when he talked about it.

Tyson loitered in the background most of the time, chipping in when he was needed. By early evening he was humming with his own brand of unbridled energy.

“We’ve got some rookies here for The Farm right now,” Tyson had said, jumping in the minute Nate was done explaining how they’d been laundering money through a deal with Nashville. “EJ said you might want to get in on the fun. You remember how to fight?”

Tyler knew he did in principle. Whether his body was up to it these days was another matter.

“Sure. When?”

“Now. Come on, finish up, we’ll head out.”

And now they were outside, just beyond the lights of the stable yard, ready to do damage to one another in the name of some educational fun. A crowd was gathering. Some to watch, most to participate.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance and, like a starting pistol to the sky, its rumble unleashed a torrent of rain from the sky. A voice in the steadily growing group whooped and cheered as lightning flashed.

Someone finally had the sense to turn on the outdoor lights, pushing away the natural light of a fading evening into bright white patches.

EJ opened his arms to the rain. “You ready for the Colorado treatment? Let’s hope all the sunshine and steaks haven’t made you soft.”

“You met some of the new boys?” Tyson shouted into Tyler’s ear over the whip of wind.

“Some.”

Tyson nodded towards a group of young guys hanging around near the fence. “Let me introduce you to these idiots.”

Three young Denver soldiers shook his hand on instruction from Tyson: Mikko, Graves, and Nikita - Radulov’s new Russian friend.

“Call me Z,” he said. “Everyone call me Z.”

“Wow, Gabe likes ‘em big doesn’t he?” Tyler had never felt particularly short, except perhaps in the shadow of his old boss Chara, but he had to crane his neck to look these guys in the eye.

Tyson laughed. “Yeah, big and dumb. That’s how he likes them.”

“Screw you, shortass,” Mikko tossed back easily.

“Wait for the ring Mikko, then you can shoot your mouth off. Tyler’s going to be joining us. Feel free to punch him in his pretty face as much as you want, we can’t have him going soft in Dallas.”

Tyler shoved him in the side. “Thanks for that.”

“I just like to see you get beaten up, what can I say?”

“There isn’t enough therapy in the world for you, you know that Tyson? Come on, I want to be close to the action.”

Tyler knew that he wasn’t the best fighter in the Families. He’d always said: young guys in the Families made their way by either their brains or their brawn. He wasn’t going to pretend like his brawn was what had got him this far. But experience was the best teacher, and Tyler had grown up with the sort of people who found fighting and wrestling just a way of passing the time, or dealing with any kind of emotion. Being the skinnier one, and more often than not the youngest one, had always made him a favourite target for some guys. None more so than his Dad, who had never been shy to beat his son to the ground under the guise of ‘teaching Tyler how to be a man’ in a house of women.

Tyler tried to hold back a wince as a whipcrack of wind needled more rain into his face. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of water, and the chill was starting to seep in. But nothing started until Gabe showed up.

The rules were simple. A pair of fighters started and whoever got knocked to the ground first was out. The winner stayed in until they too were dropped, then a new opponent was picked. Who was picked was down to the whim of the remaining fighter and mob mentality. No shoes. No shirts. The no shoes always irked Tyler the most. He’d come out of this circle with a few black eyes and bruised ribs, a dislocated thumb, and once he’d lost a back tooth, but the worst was the shredded soles of his feet.

There were a lot of unspoken rules that existed under the surface. Young guys from visiting Families were not allowed to challenge anyone older from the Denver Family, though the guys around their level were fair game. Denver Family could challenge anyone they wanted. That meant that Mikko could go up against Nate, but a scrawny kid called Charlie, who Tyson pointed out to Tyler as a rookie from Boston, had no chance. Visitors could only challenge younger Colorado Family, or each other, and the latter was actively encouraged. It was these boys that needed to learn their trade after all, and figure out the weakness of someone from a different Family early on.

Inevitably though, anyone could end up facing off with the big names from Denver, if they stayed in the ring long enough.

No matter who you met, you didn’t hold your victory over anyone. Winning and losing only mattered in the ring, to be forgotten the second the crowd dispersed. That was harder to enforce, but the Colorado Family just about managed. You didn’t go to Denver to just toughen up physically - taking a beating was considered just as valuable a skill as dishing one out. Gabe was to be challenged rarely and with a certain amount of respect. Only older Colorado Family members dared. These days he took more of a step back, preferring to watch things unfold. Unless Tyson was in a mood, in which case he was notorious for goading his boss into a fight. Tyson was notorious for goading anyone into a fight. He was vibrating with excitement next to Tyler now, ready to go. He was a scrappy fighter, less of a puncher and more of a wrestler. He bruised easily but was difficult to knock over, and surprisingly strong when he got his legs under himself properly. His eager friendliness and giggly enthusiasm led to more than one rookie underestimating him and finding themselves suplexed into the concrete. Tyler could count himself as one of those idiots, and he’d never made the mistake again.

When Gabe came out the back of the building the rain was strong enough to shrink visibility just to the circumference of the circle of bodies.

“You know the rules by now,” Gabe said, his voice carrying even over the roar of the rain.“And we’ve got some visitors from Dallas today. Feel free to show them what you can do.”

Tyler heard Radulov purr with excitement at his shoulder.

The first few fights were the rookies, too excited to wait. Their feet churned up the ground beneath them to mud and uprooted even more grit and rock. Charlie from Boston didn’t have much technique, but he made up for it in willingness to get his face kicked in whilst he waited for the right moment to strike. Tyler cheered for him when he won against a rookie from Philadelphia.

Slowly the fights moved up the rankings. When Zadorov made it into the ring he wasted no time dispatching a rookie from Philadelphia, one from Washington, then Ryan Graves. He was bleeding from the mouth when he turned and crooked a finger in Radulov’s direction. It was a long, dirty fight. Tyler whooped and hollered when Radulov came out the victor, Zadorov exhausted from his previous battles but happy to concede that Radulov got the better of him.

Rads took no time at all challenging Comeau, who did well despite his style being more suited to a quick bar brawl than a sustained fight. Once he’d been hauled out of the mud, Radulov was faced with a kid called Nolan from Philadelphia. He lasted longer than Tyler would have guessed. Radulo went on to beat two young guys from Colorado that Tyler didn’t recognise. And then, inevitably, Radulov turned to him.

“Come on Segs,” he shouted into the wind. “Show me what you fucking got baby!”

They went two rounds before Tyler finally managed to take advantage of Radulov’s exhaustion. He fell back into the crowd laughing, his nose bleeding. An eager rookie took his place, someone Tyler didn’t know. Tyler’s knuckles were bleeding, his ribs were hurting, his pelvis felt like it was on fire. He smacked a second rookie down and knew the next had to be his last. He needed a break. EJ didn’t say anything when Tyler got tossed out the ring, but his face said he knew he had let himself be beaten.

Sure enough, the fighting pinged its way back up the Colorado rankings.

Tyler was called in once more, taking on Graves - a win - before being thrown clean out of the ring by Mikko.

And then finally Tyson was in the ring, delighting in beating up a guy who the spectators called Josty. Once he was done he snagged Nate at the arm and pulled him into the middle.

“Get your shirt off, come on!” Tyson shouted over the rain, raising his fists. Nate shook his head. The crowd booed.

“Nate, Nate, Nate, Nate, Nate!” they chanted. Tyler joined in, because he knew Nate liked to pretend he didn’t need to prove himself. That he was perfectly happy standing by and letting them all have fun without him. The truth - and everyone who’d known Nate for more than a day knew it - was that he was too competitive. If he lost anything his mood turned into a black, sour thing that ate him alive.

But winning was too addictive.

He finally peeled off his sodden shirt and threw it on the floor.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said to Tyson, and he looked like he meant it.

Mackinnon charged at Tyson, taking him at the middle and sending him skittering back on the souls of his feet right across the circumference of the circle. He hit the crowd and they shoved him back with a cheer. The shouting was split - half encouragement for Nate to knock Tyson’s teeth out, half insisting Tyson broke Nate’s nose.

By the end it was more wrestling, the two of them too evenly matched. Equally as strong, equally as determined. But no-one, not even his best friend in the world, was allowed to get the better of Nathan Mackinnon if he could help it. He caught Tyson’s calf with the back of his foot and tipped him over his leg. He went down with a wet smack into the mud and Nate planted his knee and thigh in his ribcage. Tyson was laughing louder than the crowd was applauding.

Once he was dispatched out of the circle, Nate looked to Tyler.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Come on Segs, it’s been a while.”

It had been a while. He thought he might have remembered Nate’s weakness, but he didn’t have a chance to. He fended him off with punches and jabs, keeping Nate’s arms away from him. But once he got them wrapped around his waist, Tyler was done for. He ended up on his back in the mud, Nate on top of him, and he understood why Tyson had been laughing. All the energy, the adrenaline, it just forced itself up through his blood like a drug.

Nate hauled him to his feet.

“I think Jamie needs to give you some lessons.”

Tyler wanted to ask if Jamie had ever done this, in Colorado, but he was tossed back into the onlookers.

And, inevitably, Nate took on EJ.

It seemed evenly matched for a while, but then Erik showed why he’d been one of the best enforcers in St Louis and Colorado. Nate was furious when he finally went down into the mud. EJ didn’t offer a hand to help him up. Nate would just try to bite off.

Erik turned against the rain and turned his toothless smile in the direction of Colorado’s Captain.

“Come on pretty boy!” he shouted.

A hush fell over the crowd. Some rookies had never seen Gabe fight. Tyler had only seen it himself a handful of times. Enough to know that Gabe was good, damn good.

The spectators weren’t left waiting too long. A rumble of cheering rose up from those congregated around Gabe as he shucked off his shoes and his shirt. Erik grinned through the blood gushing from his nose and flexed his fingers.

“Been a while Landy,” Tyler heard him say. “Want me to go easy on you?”

“I was about to ask the same thing old man.”

The Colorado Family were weird, and insular, and freakishly devoted, everything that was said of them. But Tyler felt in moments like this that only a Family who were those things could be the ones to thrive in the no man’s land of the network. Never the top of the food chain, always the butt of the joke, never a seat at the table. It was them against the world.

Gabe and Erik had similar styles, their punches light but deadly and refusing to get too close to the lock of an arm. It occurred to Tyler that Erik might have been the one to teach Gabe everything he knew.

The rest of the Colorado Family were the loudest voices screaming against the thunder. Nate and Mikko wanted Gabe to take off Erik’s head. Tyson and Z were demanding Erik break Gabe in half.

Tyler could see money exchanging hands right through the group, but he was too busy watching to be sucked in. All this, the wind and the rain and the energy spent on brutal entertainment. It made him forget his troubles.

* * *

Tyson sank into the hot tub and made a lot of noise as the water washed over him.

“Oh yeah, that’s _good_. I can feel my dick again.”

“Sounds like it. Move over.”

Nate climbed in next to him and sloshed down on the bench. Gabe was already in, his arms braced against the side. The hot water was making a mess of his swollen face, but he looked happy.

Tyler had quickly taken the invitation to join them in the hot tub after the fight. His body ached from the blows and he only had a narrow shower in his suite accommodation. But now, peeling off his wet clothes, he was reminded just how obvious his body betrayed what had happened to him. The fresh bruises from the fighting were nothing compared to the deep scars from knives and stitches, or the mess that was the inside of his left arm, or the angry incisions on his hip. The scars were angry and pink against the pale of his skin and the dark of his tattooed arms. He didn’t enjoy looking at it in the mirror, but he accepted that it was there. He’d known Rads hadn’t cared when they’d slept together. But there was something that made him traitorous about them in front of these guys. These men who had known him so well years ago, but who hadn’t seen him since he was nearly taken away, who would only know gossip or third-hand rumours. Tyson had spent most of Tyler’s visits to Colorado trying to enthusiastically get to know his body with his tongue. But his body was different now. It felt even a stranger to himself some days.

But he wasn’t ashamed of it. And maybe the exhibitionist in him was never going to die. He stripped naked and stepped into the tub, hissing as hot water touched cold, red skin. The only gaze he felt on him as he lowered himself down was Gabe. Steady, unreadable Gabe. When he was settled on the bench Gabe nodded a head toward him.

“I guess we’ll have to get used to seeing your face around here more often.”

Nate raised his hand and smacked Landesko on the arm.

“What?”

“Jesus, Landy. He doesn’t know!”

Tyler pushed his damp hair back from his face. “I don’t know what?”

Gabe threw his hands up. “I thought Jamie would have told him by now!”

“Told me _what_?”

EJ appeared on the terrace already fully naked and folded himself into the water next to Tyler. “What are you guys squawking about?”

“Gabe just told Tyler that he’s taking over Colorado for Dallas. Which Jamie hadn’t told _Tyler _yet.”

“I’m what?” He sat up so fast he nearly went right off the bench and ended up taking on a mouthful of hot tub water. “He’s giving me Colorado?”

Erik sighed. “Well done Gabriel, your big mouth matching your big head once again.”

“I thought the guy doing the job would be the first to know, not the last. Yes, Tyler, Benn rang me up yesterday to say that he was handing the reigns of Colorado over to you. We’re going to be dealing with you now in Dallas, not him.”

“Congratulations boss,” Tyson said, needling his toes into Tyler’s calf muscles. Tyler didn’t miss the sardonic way he said ‘boss’ or the way he smirked at him. Tyson was, of course, going to be determined to make his working life as awkward and difficult as possible.

“Oh. Shit. I didn’t know.”

“He said he’d been thinking about it for a while, but if this trip went well he would pull the trigger. He called me last night and said he was happy to go ahead with it before the trip ended.”

“Well thanks for telling me, everyone!”

“We thought we’d wait for you to say something, then we’d known Jamie had got hold of you. Maybe he thought we’d tell you.”

Tyler let himself sink back against the tub’s edge. Erik stretched his arms out along the sides and used his obnoxiously long reach to tug on Tyler’s hair.

“See. He wasn’t trying to get rid of you. He wanted you to manage Colorado for him. Now you look like an asshole.”

Tyler let him pull, lost in his own thoughts.

Jamie hadn’t been sending him away like a misbehaving child. He’d genuinely wanted Tyler to check up on Colorado in advance of being being put in charge. It didn’t explain the mood he’d been in or what happened at the gala or anything of the complicated knot they’d forced themselves into but it was…something. Something to release the pressure that had been building for weeks. And that was better than nothing.


	20. Chapter 20

A phone that rang at 4am never had good news. When Tyler’s blasted its tinny ringtone at 4:08am he answered without checking the caller ID, eyes closed against the brightness of the screen. 

“Yeah?”

“He’s OK, but Jamie’s been stabbed.”

“_What_? Jordie, what the hell happened?”

“We were ambushed by some Minnesota goons. Klingberg’s in the hospital getting forty stitches in his thigh, Janmark’s nearly lost his fucking eye, I’ve got my arm in a sling. They got Jamie in the shoulder. He just got out of surgery, but they’ll let him home in a few hours. I wanted to let you know.”

“We’ll come back,” Tyler said, scrambling off the bed. “We’ll get the first flight back.”

Jordie didn’t try to hide the relief in his voice. “See you soon.”

Tyler threw on a shirt and some pants, stuffed his belongings into his holdall, and shot out of the door. He roused Rads with a lot of banging on his suite door and yelling. A few other occupants on the corridor came out to complain.

“What is happening?” a very sleepy Mikko Rantanen asked, his head an explosion of blonde hair.

“We need a ride to the airport,” Tyler said, jumping on him. “Can you drive us?”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now, we have to get back to Dallas. Either drive us or call us a cab, but we have to go. Rads, go and get Comeau.”

Mikko rubbed at his face. “Alright, alright, don’t yell. I come. First I tell Gabe.”

“No, I’ll call him on the way, we don’t have time for this. There’s an early morning flight but we need to go _now_. Move.”

Mikko obediently disappeared back into his room to get a sweatshirt. Tyler called Landeskog from the car but couldn’t get through. He called Tyson instead.

“Hullo?”

“We’re in a car with Rantanen on our way to the airport.”

“Huh?”

“Jordie called, Jamie was stabbed in an attack by Minnesota. He’s fine, but we have to get back.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. “Do I need to come?”

“No, Jordie said he was OK. Something about a shoulder wound and some surgery, but the hospital are sending him home. Can you just tell Gabe the reason we’re leaving, and it’s not that we’re running away? Just so we don’t cause some fucking diplomatic incident.”

“I will. Wait, who did you say you got driving you there?”

“Mikko.”

“You’ll get there in no time. You wouldn’t believe how much money this Family spends on speeding fines and bribing traffic officers for him.”

* * *

Jamie was on his couch under a blanket when Tyler blasted through the front door, Rads on his heels and Comeau dragging their bags behind them.

“You were quick,” Jamie commented. Jordie was on the other side of the couch, his arm in a sling and resting on a pillow. He looked impossibly relieved to see them.

“Jesus Christ,” Comeau panted. “I think we _ran_ all the way back from Colorado.”

“Are you guys OK?”

“I’m fine,” Jamie said. “I’m pissed off, but I’m fine.”

Tyler had screeched to a halt at Jamie’s feet. He was doing a good job of covering every inch of Jamie with his eyes, trying to see catalogue what might be wrong.

“It was just my shoulder,” Jamie supplied, pointing with his good arm. Underneath his shirt there was a padded, bulky area stretching from his left clavicle over to the top of his shoulder where bandages, dressings and tape kept everything pinched together. “I have twelve stitches. Not as many as Klinger. He wins that game.”

“What happened?”

“Koivu ordered a jump on us.”

“What the hell for?”

Jamie winced as he shifted in his seat. “You’ll have to ask him. The people going at us with knives weren’t very chatty.”

“Those fuckers can’t just come into our territory and do this. What the hell is Koivu playing at? Have you told anyone else?”

“I rang Crosby,” Jordie said. His face looked sallow and tired. “We want him to pull his trade with Minnesota. We did the same for him when Chicago jumped Letang last year. But he needs to talk to Geno first.” He started to lever himself up off the couch and Tyler jumped to help him.

“Where are you going?”

“I promised I’d take a few things to Klinger at the hospital, they’re going to be keeping him in a while.”

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“Esa is helping me find his stuff, we’re meeting at John’s place.”

Comeau waved a hand towards the door. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Radulov followed along behind, insisting that he could be Jordie’s arms. It would have been funny to see the big Russian fuss like that, Tyler thought, if his heart wasn’t rabbiting away in his chest.

He lowered himself onto the couch next to Jamie, his hands stuffed under his thighs.

“Jordie said you had surgery.”

“To fix some muscle damage. Nothing too serious.”

“What did Darth do to his arm?”

“It’s a clean break. One of them tried to take him out before they got to me. They missed, but it knocked him onto the edge of the curb. His arm went snap.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Jamie let his head roll back. He had an almost identical way of holding tiredness in his face as his brother did. It made his eyes puffy, his cheeks cave, his mouth turn down. It was a difficult state to see Jamie in for the first time.

The TV was murmuring in the background, but the house was empty and surprisingly quiet despite the chaos that had been unleashed that morning. Tyler forced himself to relax back against the cushions too. He hadn’t meant to be quite this close when he sat down, but they were near enough that Tyler could smell the hospital on Jamie, feel the anger simmering under his effort to stay still.

“Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“No, it was pretty rough. I’m glad you weren’t there.”

Tyler wasn’t sure if he meant Tyler specifically, or all three of them.

“How was Colorado?”

“Not right now eh? I’m exhausted, Jordie called me at four o’clock this morning to frighten the life out of me. You’ve just had surgery. Let’s not talk about work.”

Jamie lifted his head and smirked. “This conversation sounds familiar.”

“Well right now I’m being the sensible one. And I’m in charge of Colorado now, I get to say when we talk about it.”

“Oh, so they told you?”

“Why didn’t _you _tell me? Wait, never mind. No more work talk. You need to rest.”

He saw the flicker of pain in Jamie’s eyes as he tried to sit up.

“No, hey, hey, stay down. What do you need? I can get it.”

“I’m supposed to take my painkillers.”

“Good timing, I’m supposed to take meds too. Give me a sec.”

Tyler retrieved Jamie’s hospital painkillers from the kitchen and rattled around in his bag that Comeau had dropped by the door to find his own. He brought them back to the couch with a glass of water.

“We sharing that?” Jamie asked, smiling as he popped his dose.

“Come on, I wasn’t bringing over two. What, you think I’ve got cooties?”

Tyler knocked back his pills - the red one, two white, the blue one - and swigged them down with water. He helped Jamie sit up enough to take his own.

When they settled back on the cushions they were pressed right up against each other.

“You in pain?” Tyler asked, noticing the tight lines across Jamie’s face.

“It hurts like hell. Right down into my shoulder, so I can’t even work out how to make it _not _hurt. I’ve just go to wait for the painkillers to kick in.”

Tyler let his head fall to the side onto Jamie’s good shoulder. It wasn’t too surprising, he was a touchy feely kind of guy. This wasn’t the first time he’d plastered himself all over Jamie for one reason or another. But Jamie still jumped a little.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it doesn’t hurt. Don’t worry.”

Tyler settled his head again. He figured his curls were probably right in Jamie’s face, but he didn’t really care. This close he could smell less of the hospital and more of Jamie.

Tyler didn’t even realise he was dozing off until Jamie’s hand landed on his thigh and shook him gently.

“Hey, Tyler.”

“Hm?”

Jamie’s hand didn’t move off his leg. Tyler watched it resting there, not squeezing but not exactly light.

“Do you remember when we met at Jagr’s funeral?”

“It took a while to come back to me. But yeah, I do. You stopped Tyler Johnson from squeezing the life out of me. God, I was so concussed after that fight.”

“Yeah. That was what this reminded me of. I needed to keep you awake. I thought you were going to die on me.”

“We’d met before then as well.”

“You mean Gonchar’s wedding?”

“We saw that fight between Geno and Ovi.”

“You won’t remember the other time we met.”

“When?”

He could feel Jamie’s smile on the top of his head. “Well, we didn’t really meet. We were both at the Colorado Summits. You were there with Boston, I was there with Dallas. It was the year Boston and Pittsburgh nearly killed each other. Chara was still going to the meetings and he nearly took off Malkin’s head.”

The name Chara made Tyler think about what EJ and Tyson had said in Colorado.

_If he wasn’t going to get married then fine, but fucking around with a younger guy in the Family that everyone knew about? That’s not Chara’s idea of Boston behaviour._

_He was happy to let Patrice manage you the way he wanted, but when it came to sleeping with him? Nah, Chara wasn’t happy._

“I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t remember much else. Just that fight. And that you were there. I was watching you work. It was pretty impressive.”

_Only you, Tyler, could be tortured by the idea of a nice guy flirting with you._

Tyler trailed his fingers down his wrist and threaded them into Jamie’s. Jamie squeezed him back, so tightly it almost hurt.

“Why does this not happen?” Tyler asked.

“Do you want it to?” Jamie’s voice was quiet, crackling like kindling.

“Of course I do. But every time I think you do too, you just…pull away.”

“It’s been a while. A long while of pretending and then convincing myself this is a bad idea.”

“Why is it a bad idea?”

“It’s not you. It’s…this is always a bad idea for me, I think.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler said, finally lifting his head off Jamie’s shoulder. Their faces were inches apart, Jamie’s eyes intense and searching. He wasn’t searching for an answer, he was searching for an excuse. For Tyler to say something, anything, that would be a good enough reason not to do this. 

“Jamie, you get to at least try and be happy. You get to try…anything. Anything you want. Even me.”

Tyler closed the gap and kissed him, soft and sure.

“Especially me. Because I’ve not stopped thinking about this for months and I know you have too.”

Jamie kissed him back this time, the pressure and the warmth going straight to Tyler’s head.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto Jamie’s lips when he pulled away. “Do that again.”

Jamie squeezed his hand, digging their fingers into the meat of his thigh.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. There’s a lot of things I know nothing about in my life right now, but I’m sure about you Jamie.”

“OK,” Jamie said, barely a whisper. “OK.”

This time when Jamie broke apart he was smiling. “Hang on.”

“No, hey, don’t stop.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth in a long while.”

“You’re good, I’m not exactly minty fresh either.”

“Really?”

“Dude, seriously. If it becomes a problem I’ll go get you a mint, but right now I’ve got more important things on my mind.”

Tyler let his free hand wander as they kissed. Over Jamie’s broad chest, skating over those pecs that had driven him mad on sight for months. Down over his stomach, squeezed tight as he tried to angle himself closer to Tyler. He skittered his fingers from Jamie’s waist up to his ribs then grabbed a fist full of his shirt. The movement must have ignited something in Jamie’s brain because he instantly tried to roll over towards Tyler, forgetting his injury.

“Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”

They broke apart as Jamie gingerly lowered himself back the cushions, his face screwed in pain.

“Shit Jamie, sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. I forgot. Fuck, that hurts.”

Jamie spent some time breathing through the pain, his good hand tangled in Tyler’s hair.

“Better?”

“Yeah, it’s easing. Sorry I can’t be more mobile.” He pulled Tyler down for a kiss. “It might be a bit limiting.”

“What do you take me for Jamie Benn?” Tyler smirked against his lips. “You think I’m the kind of boy who puts out on the first date?”

“You are exactly the kind of boy who puts out on a first date.”

“Rude.”

Jamie squeezed his fingers in Tyler’s hair and tugged a little. Tyler moaned against his lips. “Or…you could just lay here and I’ll do all the work.”

“I would love that, but I think I might vomit if we do that to my shoulder again.”

Jordie walked in a few hours later, clocked what was going on, and walked right back out again. He ignored Tyler and Jamie’s shouting after him.

In the end it was too much work to get Jamie up and to bed, so they made the couch as comfortable as they could. Tyler slept with his head against Jamie’s chest, feeling the puffs of Jamie’s breath across the top of his hair, and slept the deepest and the happiest he had in some time.

* * *

Everybody above a certain level in the Dallas Family was called to Jamie’s house the following morning. Gossips were abound in Dallas as in anywhere else in the Families, and Tyler didn’t fail to notice all the long looks the other guys gave him and Jamie. But they had more important things to deal with it, and Tyler and Jamie had both agreed that this needed to be sorted anything else moved forward.

They met in Jamie’s dining room around the expansive table he had never used for a meal but used for the kind of meeting he needed now. He was at the head of the table, the padding on his shoulder visible under his shirt. His face had lost its pinched pain but he looked pale and quietly furious.

“Minnesota crossed a line. They can’t be allowed to get away with what they did. They didn’t intend to kill but they got closer than is reasonable.”

Eyes glanced towards the chair that Klingberg should have taken up. He was still in intensive care, dealing with an infection in his knife wound. In the seat to the right Janmark’s eye was covered with bandages that wrapped painfully around the whole circumference of his head. He didn’t look well enough to focus on what was being said, but he’d insisted on being there.

“I want them to feel something in return.”

“Crosby is going to pull their trade with them,” Jordie supplied. “Tyler talked to Marchand, and Boston will be doing the same. We’re hoping we can get LA on board too.”

Tyler wished he could scrub that conversation from his brain. Tyler had got Boston’s confirmation that they would pull their trade with Minnesota as a punishment for what they did to Dallas. But it also ended with Tyler accusing Brad of knowing about Chara’s disapproval of him and Patrice for years and not saying a thing. And with Brad being defensive, and hurt, and telling Tyler to screw himself and his new Family, before hanging up the phone.

“What else can we do to them?”

“We’ve come up with a plan, something simple.”

It’d been Tyler’s plan, in fact. Jamie hadn’t liked it.

“No. Tyler, no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous. We can make them hurt without going into their territory.”

“No way. They could have killed you or one of the others. We can’t let them think this is going to go to unpunished.”

Jamie had frowned down at him. They’d been in his office, Jamie sat on the edge of his desk and Tyler standing between his legs. “And why does it have to be you? I’ve got guys I pay to do this sort of thing.”

“It means more if I go and take part. They’ll know you’ve taken it personally. Especially if we target someone close to Koivu.”

Tyler could see his brain ticking behind his eyes as the debate waged in his head. He’d lifted his hand and sifted it through Jamie’s hair all the way to the longer bits at the back where he could grab a handful.

“Let me do the job you hired me to do,” Tyler had said. He’d squeezed his fingers in his hair and let his digits dig into his skull. “You know I can do this.”

Jamie had stared at him for a long moment, his hands tight around his waist. Finally he broke the space between them and kissed him. “Take Oleksiak,” he’d said against his lips. “Don’t get caught.”

Once they’d told the rest of the Family the plan, a round of agreement went round the table. And they all decided on one thing: fuck Minnesota.

* * *

Tyler tried his best not to scratch at his head. All of his hair was jammed up under his baseball cap, and it was hot and itchy in the heat of the _Wild _nightclub. It didn’t help that he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt to cover up his tattoos. But he needed to be discreet, and he was a little too well known to swagger in without some form of disguise. With hidden tats and his hair out of the way he could hope, at least in the darkness of a busy club, that he was not going to be easy to spot.

It was harder to hide Jamie Oleksiak. There was a reason his nickname was Big Rig. But Jamie was used predominantly for internal Texas jobs, so it was unlikely anyone in the Family network would recognise him so quickly, even when he quite literally stood out of the crowd at six foot seven. He was also doing a pretty good job of fitting in at the bar, chatting to a pretty blonde woman who seemed to be very into his arms, going by all the rubbing and squeezing her hand was doing. Tyler hid his smirk in his drink.

It was well past midnight by the time they got their chance.

Zach Parise stood up unsteadily from his table and waved a hand at the guys who were meant to go with him. He shouted something at the group over the noise and staggered of to the bathrooms.

Tyler caught Jamie’s eye across the bar and Oleksiak peeled his new conversation partner’s hand off his arm. Tyler watched the guys at Parise’s table as Oleksiak crossed to the bathroom door, but none them reacted. None of them were looking. They should have been, of course. Minnesota had just inflicted violence on another Family, and anyone was fair game. Tyler sank the last of his drink and crossed the floor to the bathrooms as well. He didn’t look behind him, kept his head down, his shoulders low, and hoped no-one was noticing him either.

The door took him to a corridor at the back of the night club floor that split to two sides: left for men’s, right for women’s. There was a queue outside the ladies and as he went to push the men’s door a guy came out. He let him pass and then slipped in after him.

The club bathrooms were dingy and painted a dark, almost-black green. The paint was peeling at the edges and the floor was suspiciously more sticky in here than the club itself. Jamie was pretending to check himself out at the sink. And Parise was swaying at the middle urinal, humming to himself.

Tyler pulled the bathroom key he’d stolen from the bartender he’d chatted up earlier and locked the men’s bathroom door quietly from the inside.

Zach didn’t notice, too busy trying to aim straight.

Tyler went to stand at the urinal next to Parise’s, Jamie moving to the one on his other side.

It took a long moment for Zach to realise that neither of the guys on either side him had unzipped. He looked up blearily at Tyler. He flashed a disarming smile back at him.

“Oh shit,” Parise said. Because even with hair up, even with his tats covered, everybody recognised Tyler eventually.

“How about you tuck yourself back in before we get started, hey?”

Tyler preferred a fight with willing participants. It wasn’t exactly a favourite part of his job to beat the hell out of someone when they were outnumbered and completely surprised. But it was what was expected of him in this world.

He let Jamie finish it off and went to lean against the sink for a while, getting his breath back. Parise was conscious, just about. He would be feeling this for some time, which was of course the point. He was one of Koivu’s closest guys, and he was now collateral in this revenge Dallas was raging against Minnesota. Whilst Tyler and Jamie did this, Radulov and Dickinson were setting fire to a warehouse of theirs across the city. In about an hour Sidney Crosby would be calling to say that they were pulling their trade. Boston would follow, then Los Angeles. All put together the actions would teach Minnesota the lesson they deserved.

Tyler watched Jamie kick Parise one more time in the stomach and Zach groaned wetly into the disgusting bathroom floor. Tyler didn’t need to say anything else, the message now thoroughly imprinted all over Parise’s body in the bruises, fractured ribs and broken fingers. Koivu would get the point.

Tyler let them out of the door and threw the key into a dark corner. Between the ladies and men’s bathrooms was a fire door that they knew was disarmed. They took it out into the back street and left the _Wild _club behind.

They picked up their rental where they’d left it three blocks away. Jamie cranked up the heating as they buckled in.

“You OK?” Oleksiak asked, pointing to the blood pouring from Tyler’s knuckles.

“Old injuries,” Tyler said, sucking on the worst of the ripped scars. “Come on, let’s get home.”


	21. Chapter 21

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Nicklas Bäckström strode down the driveway towards the cars, and the sound of his shoes on the grit was the only thing breaking the bitingly cold Washington air. A cloud of frigid breath followed along behind Nicke, his hands tucked deep inside a black coat. He looked pensive.

Brad cut the engine and waited until Nicke was finally at the gates before he lowered the window. The whole car took a sharp intake of breath as freezing air rolled in.

“Gate’s broken,” Nicke supplied. He flipped something on the gate and then hauled one side back. He pushed the other and Brad eased the car forward.

“Bit above his pay grade isn’t it?” Brad mused out loud as they rumbled up the driveway. He wasn’t sure if he should offer Nicke a ride back up to the house, but the Swede had his back to them fiddling with the gate mechanism, and didn’t seem to be interested in a favour.

“Maybe he’s trying to get away from what’s going on inside.”

Alexander Ovechkin’s house stood at the front of its expansive plot looking warm and solid in the slushy afternoon chill. A pack of dogs flooded out the door as the black Boston cars pulled up in the driveway. Brad put the car into park and glanced across at Patrice in the passenger seat.

“Ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” his boss said, eyes on the dogs swarming the car, ready to lick the new arrivals to death. “I just wish this wasn’t happening again so quickly.”

Brad nodded. It felt like had hardly taken a breath after what happened with Florida before they were dealing with them again. It had only been a few weeks ago he’d realised he no longer entered Patrice’s house and expected to find Tyler there.

And now, Ovechkin had called this meeting. He wanted to talk about Florida, about what these rumblings might mean from those two Families. He’d asked Pittsburgh, Dallas and Boston to come and try to hash things out. The Washington Captain clearly saw these Families as helpful to the cause - or else the only ones that could be in a room together long enough not to cause an entirely different kind of incident.

And it was the first meeting that Boston would be there with Tyler representing Dallas. Where he would be sat at Jamie’s shoulder, not Patrice’s. Brad couldn't pretend that the rumours he'd heard about Jamie and Tyler's new found relationship hadn't been playing round and round in his head the last few days. Going by the distracted look on his boss's face, he'd been experiencing the same thing.

If this wasn’t thoroughly awkward, Brad would be hugely surprised.

“When did you last speak to Seguin?” Patrice asked as they unbuckled.

_Seguin_? Brad thought. Patrice never called Tyler ‘Seguin’.

“The other day, about Minnesota.”

Patrice hummed thoughtfully, finally opening up the door and letting the dogs fall on him in excitement.

Ovechkin appeared in his doorway. He spread his arms and bellowed. “Welcome to Washington.”

“Oh god,” Patrice said under his breath. He’d brought along Brad, Krejčí and the young David Pastrňák for this trip. He liked Pasta, could see him doing well in Boston, and was already planning on sending him to Colorado in the next few months. But he was also glad to be surrounded by his trusted and steady old friends. He’d need them, he thought, as he pushed through the dogs and up the stairs to shake Ovi’s hand, Brad at his shoulder.

“Dallas and Pittsburgh are already here,” Ovi said, pumping their hands hard enough to make their back teeth clatter. “Come in, get a drink.”

Brad could see Patrice trying to smile genuinely as they passed into the hallway. If it was already this hard for his boss to be polite, this was going to be a very long day.

Ovechkin’s house was palatial, with room after room stacked one after the other in increasing displays of grandiosity. They were shown into the large living area with a fireplace that crackled with thick cut logs. It was warm and the group happily shucked theirs coat when a young guy from Washington offered to take them.

The Dallas and Pittsburgh men looked up from their seats as they entered.

Brad’s eyes landed on Tyler first, who was talking to TJ Oshie about something earnestly and rubbing the head of a lazy black Labrador. When Tyler clocked the arrivals he looked up, caught Brad’s eye, and smiled cautiously. Brad did the same in return. He wasn’t sure what to make of their last call, except that that was the first time they’d fought in years. 

Both Geno and Sid had come, with Bryan Rust - who Brad had got to know at a few meetings in the past year - as well as Kris Letang. Bryan was in a corner muttering into his phone whilst Kris Letang stood alone staring out the patio windows, looking both immaculate and deadly in that way he did so easily.

And then there was Jamie Benn and his men. The Dallas Captain dwarfed the chair he was sitting in, those broad shoulders hunched from speaking to Crosby. His brother Jordie was in a chair next to him, and his eyes were watching Boston with an unnerving intensity.

Ovechkin appeared behind Brad and slapped a meaty hand on his shoulder, the other on Bergy’s.

“You know everyone, gentlemen.”

Sid broke the spell and stood to shake Patrice’s hand. Geno extended his from where he sat and Brad followed along behind his boss to accept the same welcomes. Jamie and Jordie stood when Boston were finished with Pittsburgh and shook hands. Brad didn’t even want to see Bergeron and Benn attempting to keep whatever emotions they had at bay as they greeted one another. He looked over at Tyler instead, which was a mistake. Tyler was a nervous laugher, and he had his lips pressed together until they were white, his eyes crinkled up in a barely suppressed mixture of nerves and hysteria.

Brad clamped his own mouth shut and refused to look the Benn brothers in the eye as they shook hands. He went to Tyler next, placed a hand on the back of his chair, and in an instant Tyler shot up and wrapped him in the tightest hug.

“That was terrible,” Tyler whispered into Marchy’s ear.

“Yeah, Jesus Christ,” Brad whispered back. They could both feel one another shake with silent laughter in their embrace. 

Brad sat down on the small loveseat Tyler had taken, an old nostalgic thrill at the sensation of his old friend pressed up against his side. Oshie smacked Brad on the knee.

“Been a while, Marchand.”

“Yeah, been a few months.”

“Tyler and I were just talking about Colorado. He was down there recently.”

“Oh were you?” Brad asked, sly as he could. “And how is Tyson Barrie?”

Tyler cut him a weak glare. “He’s fine.”

“Getting used to calling you boss?” TJ asked, and Brad stalled.

“Calling who boss?”

Tyler picked at a piece lint on the knee of his jeans.

“Me. I’m looking after Colorado now. For Dallas.”

Brad’s eyes immediately flicked to Patrice, who was talking to Ovechkin.

“Wow. That’s great. Jamie must be liking what you’re doing,” he stumbled out, with just about the right amount of genuine feeling.

Tyler nodded, still looking down at his knee.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So what are you drinking, Brad? Tyler, give me your glass and I’ll get you a top up.”

Brad asked for a beer, and he watched Oshie march Tyler’s glass and his order over to a tall skinny guy in the corner. The younger guy took the glass and left, nodding earnestly.

Bäckström entered the room some minutes later, his cheeks and nose stained red from the cold.

“Nicke!” Ovi boomed. “Come say hello to Boston.”

Nicke shook Patrice’s hand and instead of navigating the littering of armchair and legs he simply offered the other guys from Boston a semi-courteous nod of the head. He sat down in the armchair next to Ovi and the room fell back into its quiet array of conversations.

Brad dropped his head and spoke to Tyler as quietly as he could manage.

“I’m sorry for what happened when we last talked.”

“Yeah,” Tyler sighed. “Me too.”

“You’re my friend Tyler, I love you. But Patrice is my boss, and he’s my friend too. He asked me not to say anything to you about what was going on with Chara. I promised him I wouldn’t.”

“I had no idea,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “And everyone else did. How is that fair?”

“He didn’t want me to say anything because he said he would deal with it. I guess he did. I don’t think Chara was ever happy about you two but at least he stopped saying it in front of people. I think Patrice straight up told him to quit it.”

Tyler didn’t look as happy at that as Brad had hoped.

"Look...is is true? You and Jamie?"

The minute he said it Tyler flushed, bashful, and Brad knew it was true. He'd known all along that it probably was, but seeing it confirmed in that barely suppressed stupid grin of Tyler's...

"Yeah. It is. God, that got to Boston already?"

"You always said this Family is full of gossips. News spreads fast."

“Do you want to start this now, Ovechkin?” Patrice asked, loud enough to break up the smaller conversations around the room. “I mean, how formally do you want to do this?”

“And I think we all know why we’re here,” Sid said, spreading his hands to the rest of the room. “What exactly do we hope to achieve from this?”

“We need to find out what the hell they’re up to down there,” Oshie said. He’d taken up a solid stance by the door, like a sentinel on duty. “Has anyone heard anything out of Florida?”

“We’re losing our business with them,” Sid conceded. “But what are we going to do about it? We can’t force them to play the game. If they don’t want to do business with us that’s something we just have to deal with.”

“Don’t be naive, Crosby. You think they’re just finding a polite way to turn us down? What about this guy, Kempe? He got snatched in LA. He might end up being a new Tyler, except maybe not so lucky.” Oshie flashed his eyes in Tyler’s direction. “Sorry, Seggy.”

Tyler shrugged his shoulders. Brad could see the detached look in his old friend’s eye, the way he was sifting through the words spoken for anything useful before filing it all away. Brad had wanted to ask how Tyler felt hearing about Kempe, but he realised now that he didn’t need to. Tyler was doing what he always did about something terrible - box it up, move along.

“So what, they’re going to try and make a move again?” Rust chipped in. “Again, no offence Tyler, but it wasn’t like a whole lot happened last time. We lost a lot of trade and they fucked us all over a few times, but that was it. It wasn’t like…war.”

“We struggled,” Jamie admitted. “We nearly lost Houston. Their actions screwed us over for a long time. They might not have had much affect on you bigger Families, but it knocked a lot of us back. If they try this again, and they’re better at it, some might not survive.”

“Might not just be business this time either,” Ovi noted darkly. “We all thought they were going to do something big. This time they could do it.”

* * *

Brad went to the kitchen in search of water during the seemingly endless talks and found Nicke feeding the dogs. He hadn’t even noticed that Washington’s number two had left the room. That was the problem with Bäckström - he was too good at moving around unnoticed.

“Oh. Sorry. Was just looking for water.”

Nicke kicked the dog food bag under a kitchen counter, all six bowls filled.

“Help yourself.”

Brad went to the fridge and pulled out a filled water jug shimmering with ice cubes.

“Didn’t think that’d be part of your job description, Nicke,” he commented, unable to help himself. He didn’t expect Nicke to engage with the conversation except to take it as a masked insult, like he usually did with anything that came out of a Bruin’s mouth.

“If Ovi does it, he feeds them too much and they get fat.”

“Oh.” Brad hadn’t been expecting a serious answer to that. “Well that makes sense.”

Nicke was staring at the dogs, his brow furrowed. Brad was never sure if something was bothering Backstrom or whether it was just general Swedish angst. But he thought standing there, scowling in his own kitchen, he didn’t look particularly happy.

“What’s up, Nicke?” Brad asked eventually, still unsure why he was hanging around to find out. Nicklas looked up at him, narrow-eyed and assessing.

“I think this time Florida isn’t going to miss.”

“Oh,” Brad said, his jaw clicking shut. He wasn’t sure what he’d thought Nicke was going to say, but it wasn’t that. “Well. That’s why we’re here aren’t we?”

“All we do is talk. Last time, we just talked. And we got lucky.”

“Tyler didn’t get lucky,” Brad said testily, defensive.

“He was the only one. You know that it could have been more. This time, Kempe is Tyler. And he’s been gone longer. More things are happening since he disappeared than they did last time.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Nicke,” Brad said, putting his glass down a little too hard on the kitchen island and turning to leave. “Why don’t you talk to Ovi about this?”

Nicke’s look become acidic. “He wants to get things sorted just as much as I do.”

“Then why don’t you, hey? Why don’t you and Ovi and all the other people who say Boston aren’t doing shit about it actually go down there and do something about it?”

“Does Tyler remember anything?” Nicke asked, ignoring Brad’s question.

“What?”

“Does Tyler remember anything about it? Who was there or what happened to him?”

“No, he doesn’t. We asked him when he was in hospital, and afterwards. I’ve asked him since he went to Dallas.”

“You don’t think that’s strange?”

“What, that he doesn’t remember getting drugged up to the eyeballs and tortured? No, I don’t think it’s strange.”

“It is, Brad.”

“You didn’t see the state he was in Backstrom.”

“But he doesn’t remember _anything_? A face, a name, anything that was said? Or the accident they took him in?”

Brad had fully turned back now. At some point his fists had clenched up at his sides.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“We asked him. _I _asked him. He says he doesn’t remember a thing.”

“He says that, does he? Do you believe him?” Nicke’s voice was steadily building.

“What? Of course I believe him. Why would he lie about that? He doesn’t remember anything.”

“He doesn’t _want _to remember anything, Marchand. It’s different. There is no way that he doesn’t remember something. He’s ignoring it so that he doesn’t have to face it.” His voice was causing the dogs to lift up their heads from their food and wriggle anxiously.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I know what it’s like!”

One of the dogs whined over his meal. Nicke and Brad stared at each other across the expanse of the kitchen for a long moment. Brad could feel the tension leaking from every inch of his Nicke, taste it. The Swede’s eyes were wide, livid. As the silence stretched on he blinked and looked away, his hand automatically going out to the dog that had whined. He scratched at its ears listlessly.

“I know what it’s like,” he said eventually. “To go through something big like that and to wish you didn’t remember a thing. And you think you have forgotten. But we can’t delete things forever. They come back to you. Tyler will want to delete it, but he can’t.”

Brad reminded himself to blink. The shock at Nicke’s outburst had rattled him.

“I…I don’t know. Maybe he has.”

“He needs to tell us what he knows. Even if he doesn’t want to. Kempe’s life might depend on it.”

“Yeah,” Brad said under his breath. He retreated from the room as fast as his legs could take them.

Nicke was right. Tyler had always insisted: I don’t remember anything, I don’t know anything, it’s all blank. But Brad knew about his nightmares, the things he revisited the night. He’d been right next to him during some of those, heard the garbled fear and the agonising pain. Surely not all of that disappeared the minute he opened his eyes. Surely something clung to him.

And deep down Brad had always known Tyler was holding himself together with sheer determination and a refusal to look backwards.

* * *

The meeting went well into the evening. And in the end, it was about as useless as everyone had feared. Without an actual move from Florida or any idea of their plans, there was little they could do. They all shook hands and departed almost as clueless as they left. Tyler felt rotten inside, defeated. All this talking, all this talking for nothing. At least Brad seemed to be on the same page.

“Why do we just keep having these meetings and not _doing _anything?” Brad whispered to Tyler. They were getting ready to leave, and the room was half empty. Just part of the Dallas contingent and some of Boston left, with the nervous young Washington guy failing to remember which coat belonged to who keeping everyone from flooding out in one go.

Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know. This is just…it fucking scares me, you know?”

Brad squeezed his friend’s arm. “Yeah, I know. You’re safe though, you know that right? No-one’s going to let anything happen to you.”

Tyler smiled grimly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I’d just prefer not to think about it, to be honest.”

“Hey listen, Tyler. You know…look, if there’s anything that you remember, from-”

“Tyler, hey, Carrick’s pulled the car round. Let’s go.”

Jordie pressed Tyler’s coat into his hands and brushed past them out the room, giving Brad a simple nod as a goodbye.

“Yeah, coming.”

Brad had missed his chance. He let Tyler go with a promise to talk more on the phone in the coming weeks.

Tyler slung on his coat as he left the room. Ovi was talking to Geno towards the end of the hallway, both of them laughing. Sid and Nicke were nowhere to be seen, which meant that the two old friends would be catching up for a while. Oshie was flitting between the rooms trying his best to play coat-check attendant with his younger colleague. And Tyler didn’t notice Patrice coming up beside him until he lay a hand on his forearm and halted him in his tracks.

“Tyler.”

Tyler tugged the lapels on his coat inwards. “Yeah?”

Patrice let go of his arm. When Tyler looked up at his face he heard his own words echo back at him. _You’re a coward Patrice, you’re a coward. _

“Are you going back to Dallas tonight?”

“No. Toronto. Jamie’s meeting Marner.”

Patrice offered him a small smile. “You’re making him do more than his brother’s managed so far then.”

Tyler didn’t smile back. He didn’t really feel like it right now. Or talking to Patrice. Or digging his fingers further into the gaping wound that was Florida, and Boston, and everything that was entangled up in it. He wanted to go to sleep next to Jamie on a plane and wake up in his old home city and feel normal for a while.

“Yeah well, I’ve got to go or we won’t make the flight.”

Patrice put his hand back on his arm to still him.

“Tyler.”

“_What_, Patrice? What do you want to say? Whatever it is just spit it out, because I don’t have time.”

Patrice’s ability to hide what he was really feeling hadn’t changed. Instead of looking annoyed or hurt he remained infuriatingly neutral.

“I was wondering how you are.”

“Oh, what, _now _you want to know?”

“Tyler.”

“Why didn’t you ask me how I was _any _other time? Like when I went to Dallas, or any of the fucking months afterwards.”

Patrice stumbled over his words, just a second, but enough to give Tyler some flicker of satisfaction. “I didn’t think you wanted to speak to me.”

“Of course I wanted to speak to you. I wanted to yell at you some more and then I wanted to talk to you about why you sent me away, and I wanted to tell you about my job, and what Dallas was like. I wanted to ring you when I heard Kempe had been taken, when I got put in charge of Colorado. I wanted to ask you why the hell you didn’t tell me what Chara said about you and I for years. And I wanted to tell you about Jamie.” There was a definite flinch in Patrice’s eyes then. “But since you never bothered to call me, not once, I figured you wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“You never tried.”

“You’re totally right. It’s _my _fault you sent me away so I didn’t get fucking Florida cooties all over Boston. I’m so sorry for not wanting to ring you up to hear what a liability I am.”

Patrice leant closer into Tyler’s space, his voice little more than a whisper but clear. “I didn’t send you away, Tyler. Jamie offered to take you and I thought it was best for everyone. Best for you.”

"Why did you not think to talk to me about it?”

Patrice closed his eyes briefly. “I thought you would convince me not to do it. And I had to, Tyler. It was safer for you.”

Tyler barely quashed a roll of his eyes. “Whatever, if that’s what you need to hear. Whatever you need to make you feel better about it, Patrice.”

“Seriously, Tyler. Shut the fuck up. You don’t know what I need.”

Tyler smiled, bitter and slow and dangerous. It was a stupid thing to say, because if there was one person that knew what Patrice Bergeron needed, it was Tyler Seguin.

“Next time you want to feel guilty about what happened, call me. Don’t just wait until we’re in a meeting about fucking _Florida _and then try to pass on your guilt.”

“Tyler.”

Patrice and Tyler turned. Jamie was standing in the doorway behind them, illuminated by firelight spilling out of what had been their meeting room. He was wearing his coat, ready to leave.

His eyes were pinned resolutely to Patrice. It was a cold stare, piercing. Tyler almost took a step back from Patrice, worried about being in a blast zone, but when he looked up at Patrice he recognised the look in his old boss’s eye. He’d seen it before, when Patrice felt like his back was against the wall, when he thought he or his Family were threatened.

They’d stand there glaring at each other all night if they had to. This time Tyler put his hand on Patrice’s arm.

“We’re going. Bye, Bergy.”

He moved past Patrice and walked towards the front door, praying that Jamie would follow him. A few moments later he heard footsteps behind him. He let out a long and slightly shaky breath as he stepped out of Ovechkin’s front door and headed for the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly happy with this chapter but I had so much of the rest of this written, I needed to get these weird between bits done! I hope it's ok in the end!


	22. Chapter 22

Tyler woke up disoriented. It took him a moment to bring his senses back online and remember that he was in Toronto. In a King size bed in a nice hotel, with Jamie. He yawned, stretched, and arms emerged from the blankets and wrapped themselves around his waist.

“Morning,” he said, smiling towards the lump in the covers hiding Jamie’s half asleep face.

“Morning,” Jamie’s impossibly deep morning voice rumbled back at him.

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“It’s late.”

Jamie shifted so that the blanket fell away from his ruffled hair and pulled himself further up the bed, high enough that he could rest his chin on Tyler's chest. He pulled the blankets with him and Tyler was suddenly even warmer, trapped under the weight of Jamie and the bedsheets.

“Thought you could use a lie in. You looked tired after yesterday.”

“I’m fine, Jamie. I told you, it’s just getting off these meds that’s making me feel weird.”

“And all this talk of Florida.”

Tyler groaned. “I also told you that word is banned unless absolutely necessary. Come on, I don’t want to start the day this way.”

Jamie stroked his hand through Tyler’s hair and pushed away the mop from his neck. He rested his hand there, thumb stroking underneath his ear. “Alright. Just…tell me when things aren’t OK anymore. Please Tyler.”

“I promise,” Tyler said.

_Liar_, he thought. _Big fat liar. _

“What are the plans for today?”

“I promised my Mom I’d have lunch with her, and I’ll be with you at the hotel for the meeting with Auston and Mitch tonight.”

Tyler tipped Jamie’s head back to look down into those big brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, by the way. About yesterday.”

“What about it?”

“I knew Patrice would want to talk to me.”

“You can talk to Patrice whenever you want. It’s nothing to do with me.”

Tyler let the swell of affection for the man in his arms roll over him. He’d kept the feelings at bay for so long. He could luxuriate in them now, let them warm him through when everything else felt so numb and empty.

“Your face said something different,” Tyler chuckled.

“No,” Jamie said, his gaze unwavering. “It wasn’t that you were talking to him. It was you. You looked...”

“What?”

“Like you were angry. Like you were in pain. I needed to make it stop, if I could.”

Tyler kissed him, soft at first, but it quickly turned deep, hungry. There was so much looming over him, Florida hanging like a weight around his neck. And yet when he was with Jamie some of that, at least the worst of it, eased. 

* * *

Jackie Seguin arrived in a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume and chatter. She squeezed her son tightly and he hugged back just as hard.

“Oh sweetheart it’s so good to see you.”

He wanted to take her somewhere nice, and she was suitably impressed by the menu and the way the waiters laid her napkin out for her. She was wearing the fur coat that Tyler had sent up for her recently as a gift. He needed to ask his sisters if she wore it at all aside from today. He was never sure if the gifts he sent to his mother just reminded her of the days she was married to a mobster.

“Are you sure you can afford this sweetie?”

“I told you Mom, Dallas is different to Boston. I’ve got a lot more money these days.”

She leant across the table and stroked at his cheek with her thumb. “Are you happy though, baby? Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, things are good.”

“You look different.”

Tyler waited for her to drop her hand and then turned his face to his menu. “It’s been a while since you last saw me Mom.”

It had been at the hospital in Boston, before he truly became aware of his surroundings. She was gone when it was time for him to go home.

If Jackie heard the tone in her son’s voice she didn’t react to it.

“You look more grown up. And there’s more meat on you. Is this new boss of yours fattening you up?” She pinched at his stomach under the table.

“_Mom_.”

“Oh I’m just happy, Tyler. After all, you nearly died.”

Tyler was grateful for the waiter arriving to take their order. He ordered a bottle of wine, suddenly desperate for a drink.

“So baby, tell me about your new boss.”

Tyler had to be careful, speaking like this in Toronto. He wasn’t Toronto Family, which meant he didn’t have the local authorities in his back pocket. This would be a perfect opportunity to get insider information from someone not under Toronto’s protection. But his Mom knew the usual precautions, and he’d chosen the restaurant at the last minute, and got them a booth in the far back. It seemed unlikely anyone had the budget or time to jump in and record a last minute lunch a Dallas higher-up had with his mother.

“He’s really nice,” Tyler said, aiming for nonchalant. It was not the time nor the place to tell his Mom he was in a new relationship with this new boss. “He’s good at his job, which no-one gives him any credit for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well no-one rates Dallas very highly. They’re not a city that’s had a lot of history amongst the Families. All I ever heard about this guy before I got there is that he was chosen out of desperation, because there was no-one else. And that he does the job fine, but nothing special. They’re wrong. They’re so wrong.”

“He’s a smart cookie then?”

Tyler laughed. “Yeah, Mom. He’s a smart cookie. You wouldn’t know it to first meet him, but yeah. He’s got a lot of smarts to him a lot of people will never have. And he’s funny. You wouldn’t know that about him to first him, either. But if you spend any time with him, you realise he’s a funny guy. And he’s got a brother he’s really close to. It’s not like Boston. I don’t live in their house, I’m not expected to live my life out of his place. But it’s nice to be there. Him and Jordie make it feel like home.”

That wasn’t exactly as nonchalant as he was hoping for.

Jackie squeezed his hand across the table. “And you’re being looked after? That was what I always worried about in Boston, Tyler. I know you liked it there, and you were protected. But it was like as long as you did the job they didn’t care how you lived your life.”

“Yeah. They look after me. I’ve got a good house, good money. Marshall has a new buddy that he loves. It’s good, Mom. It’s good.”

The conversation moved away from work after that, towards his sisters, his childhood friends and her plans for the summer. He sat through a ten minute presentation of the various birthdays and graduations of Hector’s kids from his previous marriage and smiled grimly through a lecture about not visiting his grandparents.

He was thoroughly exhausted by the time came to leave. He returned from paying the cheque and caught his Mom staring into the middle distance. She looked worried.

“I paid,” he said, sliding back into his chair. “You OK Mom?”

“Someone was just…I think someone was watching us, over by the bar.”

Tyler froze. The back of his neck prickled. He’d been careful. He thought he had this covered. So either Jamie had decided to have him watched to keep out of trouble, or someone else was involved.

“What does he look like?” Tyler asked, trying to remain relaxed. He picked up the cheque he’d paid and pretended to inspect the items on it. His Mom took the cue and started to fuss with things in her purse.

“He’s quite pale, and skinny. Dark brown hair. I didn’t notice him until you stood up. He watched you across the room and into the bathroom.”

Tyler felt his face flush. “Yeah, sometimes guys do that to other guys Mom, please don’t make me tell you what that means. Ow!”

Jackie had stomped on her son’s foot under the table. “Honestly Tyler, how old do you think I am?”

“Sorry.”

“I learnt a thing or two from your Dad you know, and one of those was when someone was tailing you. This man made a call when you got back to the table. He finished his drink some time ago but hasn’t got another or left. He’s waiting until you leave. Come here.”

She pulled out her phone and made a loud display of trying to prepare the camera for a selfie.

“Let’s get a photo of us. I can send it to your sisters, prove you’re still alive.”

She stood up from her seat and came around to stand behind him, waving the phone in from of them. Tyler smiled on automatic pilot but his eyes were on the back of the bar now filling up his Mom’s screen from her front facing camera. He spotted the guy at the bar straight away.He’d lost whatever subtlety he’d once had and kept glancing in their direction. He was twiddling with his phone in his hands. Ready to make a call.

Tyler didn’t recognise him. He doubted was from the Toronto Family. A lot of Tyler’s contacts from the Toronto days were when he was a teenager, and he wasn’t sure he’d recognise all of his peers straight away. It could be one of them. 

Or he could be from another Family. Another Family keen to keep tabs on what Dallas was doing in Canada.

“You think we got one sweetie?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah Mom, we got one. Let’s get you home.”

She closed the camera without taking a single picture.

Tyler ushered his mother to the coat check and out onto the street. The guy came out the door behind them, on his phone.

“I’m getting you a car,” Tyler said, ordering an Uber single-handedly. “Let me deal with this ok?”

“Be careful darling,” Jackie said, squeezing her son tight. “And call me more often. Please.”

A few minutes later she left with a kiss, not looking back at their attentive audience. Tyler thought briefly how many times she’d done this with his dad. Been bundled into a cab whilst his Dad dealt with his business out of her sight.

Tyler made a show of looking up and down the street. The guy had popped out a cigarette to give him an excuse to stay close.

Tyler pulled out his phone again and called Radulov.

“Rads, I need a pick up at Fennick’s Bistro. Bring Connor will you?”

“Sure,” Radulov said slowly. “Why?”

“Thanks,” Tyler said, and hung up. He only waited five minutes for Radulov, which meant he’d been idling at the hotel.

“Why you need both of us?” Radulov asked, sounding grouchy when Tyler slid into the back seat.

“No reason,” Tyler said, staring out the back tinted windows at the guy by the restaurant door. He’d lifted his phone to his ear again, and not taken his eyes off Tyler’s car for a second.

* * *

He decided not to tell Jamie about the guy at the restaurant. He wasn’t sure why, except for the glaringly obvious reason that this could be old Toronto business that had nothing to do with the Dallas Family, or any Family in fact. Tyler had a whole life in Toronto before he climbed the Family ranks. He knew a lot of people. It wouldn’t surprise him if one of them thought stalking him through the city was a neat way of getting back in touch.

He and Jamie made it to their meeting with Auston and Mitch early. They were meeting at a bar in a high end hotel, sleek and anonymous and the perfect place to talk about illegal activity. The Toronto men had a collection of heavy leather armchairs at the back of the bar, a nice quiet corner to talk in private.

Matt Martin brought them over, looking like he’d chewed a wasp. He was clearly unhappy about something. Tyler didn’t fail to notice the look Mitch gave him when he thought no-one would see. Martin’s face changed to the standard neutral expected of a guy in his job pretty quickly.

Mitch Marner hadn’t changed a bit since Tyler had last seen him. He was a fidget spinner on legs, constantly encouraged to move and powered by some secret force.

Auston was the calm to Mitch’s chaos, but happy to let his counterpart take over the talking. He was just happy that Dallas had finally agreed to come north of the border and take some work off Mitch’s hands.

The meeting was productive. They agreed a lot of things Jamie had been hoping for. Jordie practically purred as they all shook hands at the end.

“Come by tomorrow morning to one of our houses,” Mitch said. “Tonight I’m talking to Buffalo and I’ll have a few more things to offer you. How does that sound?”

“We don’t fly until the afternoon, we can certainly fit that in.”

When they said goodbye, Martin had disappeared. None of the Toronto guys seemed to notice his absence, so Tyler shook everyone’s hands - gave a parting hug to Auston, who was off to Winnipeg to bang some heads - and left without thinking any more about it. He had his mind on more important things. Numbers, deals, where this new business could be cycled out to their other networks.

Tyler let the chill of a Toronto breeze slap him in the face as they left the hotel. It was dark now, even though it was hardly late. A typical Canadian night.

He watched Auston’s car pull away, and Jamie slid a big hand around his waist.

“You coming back with us?”

“I thought I’d see some old friends,” Tyler said, finding Jamie’s smile easy to reflect. His chest felt loser today. “I’ll go surprise one of them at work, he’s just down the street.”

He could just imagine the look on Brownie’s face when he tried to explain to his boss that the guy lounging on his desk was a friend, and not an expensive rent boy as Tyler would loudly informed his whole office. It was his favourite trick to play on his old friend.

Jamie could see the mischief in his eye, smirked and gave him a kiss.

“Be good.”

“Can’t promise anything. I’ll be late, ok, don’t wait up.”

Jamie looked sceptical at that demand, but relented to one more kiss and then Carrick was sweeping him away in a car to their hotel.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

Tyler didn’t know the ‘sir’ was directed at him until a hand touched his elbow. A flustered looking man in a smart suit held up his hands.

“Sorry, sir, I just wanted to check. Did you leave your phone at the bar by any chance? We’ve found one, and thought it might be from your party.”

Tyler checked his pockets. Empty.

“Oh, fuck. I must have. Thank you.”

“Not at all, follow me and we’ll reunite you.”

Tyler followed the man - who he assumed was a barman - back through the hotel doors and into the bar area. Their glasses were already cleared away from where they’d been sitting, no trace of the Toronto and Dallas Families left behind. The barman who had served them looked up and recognised him. He looked surprised.

Tyler felt a hand on the small of his back.

“This way sir, my manager put your phone in a back room so it wouldn’t be stolen.”

Tyler headed for the door he was being pointed towards. And then once through, he faced a set of black doors. Elevator doors.

Tyler had been duped.

“Wow. Well done,” he said, on a sigh. The ‘barman’ still had a hand on the small of his back and pressed firmly as the doors opened fully.

“Thank you.”

The guy in the elevator was the one from the restaurant with his mother. Tyler let himself be guided in next to him. The fake barman moved to stand in front of him, blocking his exit, and pressed the button for floor 17.

Tyler had no idea who these guys were. They didn’t look like Toronto, but then who would try such a move in a hotel only just vacated by the Toronto Family? He ran through a list in his head of who could be in the city and want to make an example of someone from Dallas. The list was pretty long.

He tried to keep his breathing even as the elevator whooshed upwards. He looked up at the second guy, then down to the gun on his hip. Tyler had no chance in this small space to get any advantage, but he had his knife in his back pocket.

And just as he thought that he felt a hand pull up the back of his jacket and retrieve the knife.

“Sorry Tyler,” the guy said, not sounding particularly sorry at all.

“That’s a good knife, it cost me a lot. It’s engraved.”

The second guy took the handle out and inspected it.

“The initials are M.T.”

“Yeah, and that M.T. was seriously difficult to kill. I deserved the knife.”

The big guy laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. The elevator began to slow down and Tyler felt his body brace despite himself. 

The doors opened and Tyler didn't manage to hold back the long sigh of relief that slipped out of him.

“Wow, it’s Mr Sunshine himself.”

Leon Draistaitl glared back at him with ferocity. This steely faced German had landed in a world a long way from his birthplace, but his job fit him like a glove. He had his arms folded over his chest and the low hallway lighting didn’t hide the distaste in his eyes, or the dark circles underneath them.

The other two men left the elevator, but when Tyler stepped forward Leon pushed a hand against his sternum and shoved him backwards.

“Hey, can I get a cloakroom ticket or something for my knife? And they nicked my phone, I want that back.”

He heard one of the guys let out a bark of laughter before the doors slid shut. Leon tapped a keycard against a sensor and pressed the button for the penthouse.

“Hi Leon. Long time no see.”

Tyler knew he shouldn’t push it, but he wasn’t very good at doing what he should.

“You guys are good at staying incognito, I had no idea you were in town. But you could have just asked for a meeting.”

He could see a muscle in the back of Leon’s neck twitch.

“You know I can’t say no to a pretty face,” Tyler added. He saw his own smirk in the mirrored elevator doors - supercilious and dark. Leon met his eyes in the reflection and held them, glowering, until the doors opened at their destination. 


	23. Chapter 23

Leon led the way, tapping them into the suite with a different keycard. The suite occupied the entire top floor of the hotel, the perimeter of the room a shining ribbon of glass. An infinity pool on the outer balcony threw the lights of Toronto up onto the ceiling in a dizzying kaleidoscope.

Connor McDavid was at the bar, pouring a drink.

“Connor. Not a bad place to hide out.”

Tyler hadn’t seen Connor in some time. It looked like he’d grown his hair out then hacked it back with kitchen scissors. He’d lost a lot of weight around his face, sinking his eyes further back into his skull. He was a pale guy with hair that had burnt darker as he’d grown older, but it hadn’t taken much away from his sallow pallor. He had a way of holding himself that spoke of an inner confidence he had no desire to project to the world around him.

His eyes were the first thing anyone noticed about Connor. They hadn’t changed a bit.

“Help yourself,” Connor said. Tyler crossed the suite and inspected what was on offer before pouring out a favoured whiskey. In the background Leon dropped himself onto one of the couches. He put on a hockey game, a little too loudly.

“Let’s go outside,” Connor said, nodding towards the suite’s wrap-around terrace. Tyler took his drink and the two braced themselves against the whipping wind of a Toronto spring night. It was cold, but not bitingly so. They were having a surprisingly warm spring this year. It made Tyler ache suddenly for his childhood running around the streets of this city, no matter the weather. Keeping warm in -20 degrees with fistfuls of pity food handed to them round the back ofrestaurants where they delivered secrets, favours and packets of weed. Huddling around shared cigarettes the older guys offered them, for their first taste of nicotine and for something to do when the frozen rain came. Stripping their shirts to show off to girls in High Park when the summer sun made them lazy and sweat-sheened, a joint or a bottle of beer always between their finger tips. He wasn’t sure if he missed the city itself or the years he’d had within it.

“You could have just asked me for a meeting,” Tyler said.

“I don’t trust your new Family, or you for that matter. One word about us being here and Matthews burns this whole building to the ground to get rid of any trace of us.”

“Any trace of _you_,” Tyler corrected. “I’m a guest in Toronto. You’re a pest.”

Connor had his face turned out to the skyline, but Tyler wouldn’t have been able to understand what was going on behind those eyes anyway. This was a guy who clawed his way to the top at Edmonton in a bloody takeover that nearly crippled the whole Family. This was a guy who the other Families struggled to understand. They respected him for booming trade, feared him for his unscrupulous ways.

“Why risk staying in a hotel where Auston was holding a meeting?”

There was no-one who hated Connor quite as vigorously as Auston Matthews. It always had and no doubt always would put him at odds with his fellow leader, one Mitchell Marner. Because Mitch had known and loved Connor, in his own way, since they were four years old.

The whole thing exhausted Tyler just thinking about it, and it wasn’t even his problem. He had no idea how Toronto survived with this dichotomy slap bang in the middle of their Family.

“We didn’t know it was going to happen.”

Tyler knew that Mitch Marner was the only reason Connor would step foot in Toronto. Had Auston just suggested the hotel by coincidence and Mitch had to pray it wouldn’t reveal his clandestine visitor? Tyler thought of Matt Martin’s screwed up face when they’d arrived at the hotel, the warning look Mitch shot him when he thought no-one else could see. If Mitch trusted Matt Martin with that kind of a secret, Tyler had better pay more attention to the man in the future.

“How are things for you guys at the moment?” Tyler asked, changing the topic away from the potential rampage Auston Matthews would go on if he discovered Edmonton had put a toe in Toronto.

Edmonton were a strange Family. They were private, though not as private as Montreal. They were ruthless, though not as cold-blooded as Winnipeg. They had survived a sticky past, like Vancouver, but hadn’t come out quite as squeaky clean. They were an oddity in the Canadian Family landscape, and one that few American families wanted much to do with. It made business hard for the guys in Edmonton, but they always managed.

“It’s fine,” Connor said lightly. “We’ve just taken a large piece of Calgary’s business. More oil and gas.”

“Plenty of it out there.” That was all Tyler knew about western Canada. Oil fields, prairies, pumping iron drills and endless lines of tractor trailers heading from one anonymous plain to another.

“Calgary happy with that?”

Connor smiled. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

Tyler sipped some of his drink. It was strong, which was exactly why he’d chosen it. It was starting to slowly warm him against the evening chill from his stomach outwards. It just about reached his fingers by the time it was half done.

A roar came up from the living room behind them and Tyler glanced over his shoulder to see Leon impassively watch the Ducks score on the Maple Leafs down in California. Tyler wasn’t sure how he knew the details of the match, except that hockey was something he’d grown up with and it stuck to him without him meaning it to - like gum on the bottom of his shoe.

“He’s as cheery as ever,” Tyler noted, turning back to the skyline.

“He worries.”

“No shit. If I had anything to do with the Edmonton Family and you, Connor, I’d worry too.”

“We’ve all got our own worries. I wouldn’t want some of yours, that’s for sure.”

“No. I guess not. What am I doing here though?” 

“Be careful with Florida,” Connor said, with his usual lack of tact. Tyler finger’s flexed involuntarily, and he nearly dropped his glass.

“Florida isn’t Dallas’s problem.”

“Florida is everyone’s problem. This is exactly what happened last time. They hide in plain sight, doing things they should never get away with it. And whilst everyone is arguing about the right way to do things, they strike.”

Tyler rolled his eyes in an attempt at bravado.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

“You heard it before right before they snatched you in Carolina.”

Connor was nothing but frank. Tyler blew out a lot of air.

“You don’t have a cigarette do you?”

Connor gave a small and genuine smile. “I’ve been banned.” He nodded his head toward Leon, who was at the bar with his back to them stirring something in a glass. “He cut me off.”

“Well if you want to talk about Florida you’re going to have to get me another drink.”

He watched as Connor went back inside and fixed him a drink, the exact same brand and amount as he’d had before. He stood close to Leon as he topped up the two glasses, but the pair didn’t appear to share a word. Tyler turned away before he was caught staring.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t get Connor, he didn’t get Leon, and he didn’t get Edmonton. It was one part of the Family network he was happy to throw his hands up and admit that he knew nothing.

Connor came back and handed him a drink, his cold, dry fingers unrelentingly strong against the glass so that Tyler had to all but prise the tumbler from them. Connor wasn’t looking at him, but out to the CN Tower, lit up in a garish red.

“I spent the whole day yesterday in Washington talking about Florida with the east coast. Whatever you’ve got better be good.”

“It’s a warning. A couple of weeks ago I received a call from Stamkos. I thought he was dying at first. But when he got it together, he told me he had to get away. He needed money and a passport, and a ticket out of North America. I told him I could arrange it all as long as we agreed to a price down the road. I figured better to be involved than not, even if I never saw my money again. We arranged for him to come to Edmonton to pick everything up. He didn’t say how long he’d be. I wasn’t to tell anyone. At first I thought Florida had made a bad deal. Then I figured he was running away from Florida itself.

Ten days after his call he showed up at the airport. He looked awful. I had a passport and a one way ticket to Argentina booked for him, and the amount of money he’d asked for. He flew straight on to Toronto to make his connection. He never left Edmonton airport.”

Connor paused, taking time to taste some of his drink.

“I’ve no idea if he made it. I tried to ask him what was happening in Florida to make him run away. I still held out some hope, I suppose, that it was a personal problem. But he just kept saying ‘it’s all gone to shit’. The more I asked him the less he said. He waited until the end to tell me that Florida was cutting all deals with every Family. Every single one. I wasn’t to expect anymore through-trade to them via Washington, or any other Family.”

Tyler couldn’t imagine how Connor would have reacted to someone from another Family telling him a strong arm of his business was being dumped. Florida and Edmonton couldn’t have been much further apart in terms of distances, but through lots of switchbacks and deals and agreements they had a strong line of business between one another. For a while Edmonton depended solely on product being made in Florida and farmed through Washington, St Louis and Chicago. Connor had been able to diversify, but having Florida drop out of their balance sheet would impact them deeply.

But it wasn’t exactly surprising. The whispers had turned to roars over the last few weeks - people were losing business from Florida and the state was shutting down. Just like last time.

“Shit,” Tyler couldn’t help but breathe out.

“I wanted answers, of course, but he wasn’t going to give them. We were in an airport and there was little I could do. I like Stamkos. It was the only reason I agreed to it in the first place. I let him go. But before he left, he gave me a warning. That something was coming, to the American Families, to all the Families that stood in the way.”

“The way of what?”

Connor turned his blank look to Tyler. “He didn’t say. But I trust his warning. Stamkos used to be a Captain within those two Families. He survived what happened last time. Whatever has happened was enough to make him run from everything he’s built. If he’s not safe down there, from whatever this is, then I don’t know who else is going to be.”

Tyler shook his head. “Everywhere I go, everyone I speak to, it’s all about Florida. I don’t know if we’re all talking ourselves into a war or one is coming.”

“It’s not a war. Last time it got out of hand too early, and whoever took you stepped over a line the rest of them weren’t ready to cross. It failed. This time the line has moved, and if people like Stamkos aren’t around to dig their heels in this could be much more than a war.”

Tyler drank more to burn away the nausea.

“I can’t get away from them,” he blurted out, despite himself. “Wherever I go, Florida fucking follow me. Everyone thought they were dead and I knew, I _knew _they weren’t. Patrice knew it, that was why he happy for me to go to Dallas. He couldn’t protect me in Boston anymore.” Tyler laughed humourlessly. “And all I keep thinking is _why_. Like, why me? Why did Florida pick me? Not anyone else from Boston, or anyone else in Carolina that night.”

“I thought you knew,” Connor said.

“Knew what?”

“I asked Stamkos, not long after he’d fled that shoot out in Washington. We met on his route home via Denver, and I’d been in Pittsburgh. It was just coincidence. But I asked him why it was you. He claimed he didn’t know, but eventually said it was something to do with a trip you made with Bissonnette, years before. You went into that Panther bar of theirs in Sunrise.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t even do anything. Not really. Biz and I just smashed the place up a bit, got into a fight. Got thrown out and we went home. Tyler Johnson bottled me. That was it.”

“He didn’t say it made sense. Or who did it. He knew, of course, but all he’d say was that whoever it was got the idea when you came into the bar that night.”

Tyler reared back from the railing, then stopped moving altogether.

That was it? That was the reason he’d been targeted in such a brutal way by whoever had gone off script in Florida’s surge for control? For showing up in a bar and making trouble?

He didn’t know what to do with himself.

When he finally forced his eyes to stop burning he caught Connor staring at him shrewdly. Anyone else would freak out at their guest losing their sanity on their balcony, but there wasn’t a whole lot that disturbed Connor.

“I thought you knew,” he said eventually.

“That’s not a reason,” Tyler stuttered out. He drank his glass dry. “I thought it was just because I was close to Patrice.”

“That was part of it. But they could have chosen Brad, or Tuukka, or hell even Patrice himself. That night, you clearly gave him the idea.”

“Who?”

“I have no idea. Stamkos knows. But he wouldn’t say anything. I don’t know who stepped over that line the first time, but talking to Stamkos makes it clear it’s the same person whose leading it this time. You’d better start writing up a list. And watch your back. If Stamkos had to run away from this guy, you might want to do the same.”

Connor straightened up and left Tyler out on the balcony. It was one of Connor’s unnerving habits; once he considered himself done with a conversation he simply got up and left. It drove delegates from Families mad during negotiations.

The only reason Connor McDavid didn’t get punched in the face more often appeared in the glass doorway and glared in Tyler’s direction. Tyler pulled himself together enough to walk inside. He immediately missed the chill of the wind.

Leon herded Tyler to the suite door, past Connor who was now sprawled on the suite couch with his phone in his hand. His phone displayed a series of missed calls. The TV showed a dejected huddle of Maple Leafs on the opposition bench in Anaheim.

Leon blocked his view and Tyler let himself be marched out of the door and into the elevator.

“I want my knife back. And my phone,” he told Leon as the doors opened. Leon leant in and pushed the button for floor 10. He didn’t look away as the doors shut between them.

The guy with the long neck was waiting for him on the tenth floor. He handed him his knife, his phone and pressed the floor for the basement. No-one else joined him in the elevator.

Tyler didn’t recall leaving the hotel that night. He got an Uber to a neighbourhood as far away from Connor’s hotel as he could. He let himself fall into a bar he knew from his childhood, a scummy place whose backroom he’d sat in once and counted endless piles of dirty money. The TV was turned off, which meant the Leafs had definitely lost. He ordered a double shot of whisky. He threw cash down on the table when he was done.

Who was there, that night in Florida? He remembered Tyler Johnson, that look of sadistic triumph in his eye as he held a bottle over the back of Tyler’s head. He remembered Ryan Whitney watching Tyler and Biz make a mess of his bar, vaguely nauseous but otherwise unwilling to get involved.

Another Uber, another bar, this one less down at heel, one he knew the Toronto Family had never owned. He drank more whisky, then some jäger. The barman pretended not to notice him as he tried to order more.

He remembered someone screaming to get Stamkos, but he couldn’t place their voice.

A third Uber, a club this time, somewhere noisy that let him in even though his eyes were unfocussed and he was alone. He was in there for five minutes before the crush at the bar was too much and he left for the smoking area on a back patio. A woman and a man stood in the far corner, the woman wearing far too little clothes for the weather and sobbing, her partner nodding his head silently and smoking furiously on his cigarette. He wasn’t happy to give Tyler one when he asked, but the woman was talking as she wailed and he was obviously afraid to lose the thread.

Tyler took his lit cigarette to the opposite corner and pulled out his phone to make a call.

“Do you remember who was there that night?”

“Seggy?”

“_Listen to me_. Do you remember who was there, on that night, in Florida?”

“What night in Florida? Segs are you ok? Where are you?”

“I can’t do it anymore, Biz. I need to know. I need to know who was there, who did this to me, whose doing this to Kempe, whose going to come for us this time. I can’t do this.”

Biz said something Tyler didn’t hear. Tyler shouted over the top of him anyway. He wanted to yell at someone. Biz felt like the right candidate.

“Who was there that night? In Florida? I saw Johnson and Whitney.”

“The night we went to the Panther bar? Why do you want to know who was there that night? Segs where are you?”

Tyler hurled his cigarette away and pushed his way back through the club.

He remembered him now. Nikita Kucherov. His jacket over his shoulders, staring down at Tyler from a balcony with pure fury in his eyes. His mouth curling, murderous words spilling out. Kucherov leaning forward, his jacket falling to the side. A lump of bandage where his right hand used to be.

His right hand.

Patrice’s voice in his head: _Be careful of Florida, Tyler. They’re old school down there. You ought to hear how Vincent Trochek punishes his men. _

Trochek.

Tyler lost Biz’s voice to the din, but he carried on yelling anyway. He had no idea what words were inside him, which ones came spilling out. A guy jostled him purposefully as he rushed past, obviously annoyed at Tyler’s drunken clumsiness. Tyler turned on instinct and shoved the guy back into his friends, sending drinks flying. He didn’t stick around to take retribution. He fell out onto the street, still talking.

“Kucherov. We didn’t pay attention to Kucherov. We didn’t _see _it.”

Biz was talking at the same time: Jesus Tyler, I don’t know what you’re doing but get the hell home. Call a cab. Where’s Jamie?

“He was there, that night. Biz, he saw me and he thought that was enough to come after me. We didn’t see him, we didn’t see what was right in front of us. We missed it and we’re all fucking dead because of it.”

The tears on his face were the only warmth he could feel. A nasty Toronto night had picked up, the air sparkling with the kind of hidden frosts that lurked even in the later days of spring.

“We didn’t see him. But we saw Kucherov. We should have known."

“Tyler for fuck’s sake, tell me where you are.”

Tyler’s phone died without warning. He stood in the middle of the street breathing freezing air until a cab had to honk his horn trying to get past. The driver yelled something at him he didn’t hear. Time was slipping away from him. The streetlights and the cold hurt his eyes.

All of those memories, the blurred pain and the straps on his wrist, the smell of a hospital for weeks, all the weight he’d lost and his appetite with it, the drugs he’d had to take for months, the painkillers he’d come to rely on. All the fear. Everything, all because he crossed someone one night in a bar in Florida, a specific person. It had to be him. They’d been too busy looking at Florida as a whole, they’d not focussed on the person right in front of them. They'd fallen for the lie. But the glaringly obvious clue was right there. Kucherov. With his missing right hand.

_He punishes his people by removing their right hand. Trochek is a monster, Tyler. Be careful in Florida. _

* * *

Biz didn’t have Jamie’s number, and couldn’t get hold of anyone of use in Dallas, so he called Tyson Barrie in Denver. Tyson called Jamie.

“Biz says Tyler is drunk or having a breakdown or possibly both. I’m assuming you’re not with him, so you’re going to have to find him. Be quick, Jamie. It sounds bad.”

Jamie, not knowing Toronto at all but knowing things would get worse the longer they went on, swallowed his pride and called Auston Matthews.

Frederik Andersen found Tyler outside a bar in Downtown Toronto, propped up against the wall. A bouncer was standing over him contemplating whether to call a taxi or an ambulance.

“You might want to get him to a doctor,” he’d told Freddie, after the Dane had laid a claim to him. Freddie just gave the man a quieting look and hauled Tyler up and into his car. The bouncer didn’t argue. He recognised Freddie.

Under strict instruction from his boss, Freddie drove an unconscious Tyler straight to the hotel where the Dallas Family were staying. Freddie poured him into Radulov’s arms at the service entrance.

“Good luck.”


	24. Chapter 24

Tyler came to as he vomited onto porcelain. He knew instantly he’d been doing this, retching and bringing nothing up but bile, for a while. The light was on in whatever bathroom he was in, wherever this bathroom was. Everything felt cool and calm outside the door, and some of the prickles of fear died down.

The bathroom door stood open and daylight shone through. It hurt through his eyes and right to the back of his skull.

He spat out the grime in his mouth and tried to lever himself upright. Radulov came through the door and immediately set him back down on the floor.

“Don’t get up Seggy, not yet.”

Someone spoke to Rads in Russian above him. A cold water bottle was pressed into Tyler’s palm and he scrabbled to get it open.

“Drink, but slowly OK?”

“Where am I?” Tyler croaked out in between gulps.

“Back in our hotel. Slow down Segs. Last time you threw it up.”

Tyler didn’t remember a last time.

“What time is it?”

“Midday.”

Their flight was at 5. Jamie would be meeting Mitch Marner now. He was supposed to be there. Tyler gave Radulov the bottle to distract his hands and hauled himself upwards.

“Tyler, sit down.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m done.”

He did one final dry heave into the toilet bowl.

“Ok, now I’m done.”

This time he was able to mercifully crawl onto a bed in the room. Radulov didn’t let him speak until he’d finished the bottle of water.

“I thought you were going to die,” Rads growled, not looking at Tyler as he fussed with the covers. Tyler caught sight of Rads’ phone amongst the sheets. His phone was on a call, and the display read 4 hours and 13 minutes.

“Who’s that?”

“Bish,” Rads said. He lifted the phone and headed to the door. “Give me a minute.”

Val came in as Radulov left.

“Why has he been on the phone to Bishop for 4 hours?”

Val sighed. “Because we didn’t know how to look after you. We know you not want to go to hospital again, so we phone Ben.”

That sounded about right. Tyler slid down onto the covers and closed his eyes. His brain felt wired, and something stung and crackled behind his eyelids. He wondered if he might have taken in more than just alcohol last night.

“Where were you?” Val asked him quietly.

“You’ll have to tell me. I don’t remember.”

“I mean before…this. Where were you?”

At Connor’s. He remembered being tricked into an elevator by one of Connor’s men. He remembered the conversation he’d had with Connor, remembered Leon’s fucking sullen face and McDavid tipping his world upside down so casually with information he’d known for years yet not bothered to pass on until now. He remembered what his strung out brain had put together so perfectly in a way his sober one hadn’t.

“Is Jamie pissed?” Tyler asked unnecessarily.

“He was pissed when you didn’t reply to his messages last night. I think he have heart attack when Tyson Barrie called him.”

Tyler peered at him uncomprehendingly. “Tyson Barrie?”

“Tyson got a call from Bissonnette. Apparently you called him drunk and he wanted us to find you, but he have no number for Jamie. So he told Tyson.”

That made some sense at least.

“Jamie’s with Mitch now, right?”

“Yeah, meeting about the Buffalo business is about to start.”

“Whose with him?”

“Jordie with him. Dobby drove him, he took Radek and Connor.”

Tyler groaned into the pillow. His own pulse was starting to bang like a broken washing machine in his head.

“You can’t have painkillers, Bish says. Not for few hours.” Val gave him a smile that didn’t quite cover the worry in his eyes. “Sorry. Doctor’s orders.”

Bish was going to have a field day bossing him around when he got home.

“I have to go to the meeting.”

“No.”

“Val.”

“Tyler, there’s no way.”

Tyler got himself up off the bed anyway.

“Stop.”

“Let me do my job, Val.”

“Let me do mine. Sit down or I put you down.”

Tyler didn’t doubt Val would knock him down if he needed to, but he also knew he wouldn’t enjoy it.

The door to the suite opened and Val’s attention moved. Tyler took his chance to lunge for the door to the adjoining suite, which was empty of whoever had been stationed in there for the night. He staggered to the room’s main door and let himself out, Val rushing after him. He met Radulov in the corridor, an impassable wall.

“I’m serious Seggy, don’t even try.”

“I have to go to that meeting. Marner is such a bitch about the figures, I know what we need to do to make him say yes. He was nice to us yesterday but this Buffalo business is sweet, he’ll want us to pay more than we should for it.”

“Jamie said to look after you here. Turn around Segs.”

Tyler refused. He could see it, the pause in Radulov’s eyes. Jamie was their ultimate boss, but Tyler was senior to them too. Jamie hadn’t covered what to do if Tyler woke up.

“Let. Me. Go,” Tyler said, drawing himself up to Radulov’s height.

Rads wasn’t frightened of him. But he also knew it wasn’t a physical threat Tyler was leveraging.

Radulov narrowed his eyes and then turned out of the way.

“Fine. If Jamie ask, you get away when I make a call. Don’t get me into trouble. They’re at a Toronto house in Brockton Village.”

Tyler staggered into an elevator and only as the door closed did he realise his phone had died the night before. But he still had cash in his pocket leftover from the night before. He hailed a cab and remembered the full address on the first go. It was amazing, sometimes, how his brain could fire on muscle memory alone.

He crawled into the car and lay across the backseats. He felt rinsed clean of everything, of hydration or food or faculties. He trembled as his body furiously tried to process the alcohol he’d poured down his throat last night. The cab driver said nothing, but hit the gas quickly once Tyler fell out of his car.

Tyler took a moment to shake his senses awake as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the familiar red-brick, terraced house. They were somewhere in Brockton Village, where dozens of identical streets with the same exact houses afforded as much anonymity as was possible in a big city. 

The front door opened and Matt Martin’s bulk filled the doorway. He didn’t look happy, yet again. 

“Has the meeting started?”

“Twenty minutes ago. How are you still standing?”

“Practice.”

Tyler made it up the front steps, but Martin didn’t budge.

“What, I’m not invited anymore?”

“Jamie’s a big boy, I think he can manage on his own.”

“Your boss is a little shit, and I know all his tricks.”

That pulled a smile out of Matt.

“Maybe, but it’s all started without you. And you’re in no fit state to do a negotiation.”

“Tyler,” a voice behind Martin’s shoulder said, not bothering to hide their surprise. It was Faksa, lurking in the dark hallway of the dingy house.

“Hey, Faksa. Get him to move.”

Faksa glanced at Martin, who looked back in that unnervingly steady way of his.

“He was supposed to be in with Jamie,” Faksa told his counterpart.

“I don’t care. He’s late and he’s probably still drunk. Your boss can wait for whatever pearls of wisdom he has until he’s done. Get back to your post.”

Radek set his jaw. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“It’s _our_ house.”

“Better place for a meeting isn’t it?” Tyler asked, insidiously, feeling raw and vicious. No matter what stupid shit he did to himself, his memory would never fail to file away information that could wipe the smile off someone’s face. “More private than a hotel, anyway. Where anyone could be hiding upstairs.”

If Matt needed to keep Mitch’s secret about Connor, he was going to have to do better than the look he gave Tyler at that.

Tyler used Matt’s surprise to slide his shoulder into the doorway. He banged his hip against the door and forced it open as Matt sighed loudly through his teeth. Faksa waved a hand and Tyler began to follow him, out of Matt’s reach. Tyler was already organising his opening words to Mitch in his head.

Martin slammed the front door shut and yelled _Willy _down the corridor. Radek and Tyler stopped in their tracks.

William Nylander emerged out of a door under the old wooden stairs. With his round glasses and his body unfurling from underneath the staircase he looked like some kind of Swedish Harry Potter. He was a tall guy, which was easy to forget with his diminutive features, now off-set with a wild new beard and hair long enough to touch his shoulders. He’d thickened out some, and he all but filled the narrow hallway. Tyler noted the square bulge in Nylander’s pocket. His matches and lighter.

“Huh. Tyler Seguin,” he said, sounding genuinely amused. “You’re late.”

He had a far off expression that said he’d maybe had too much fun the night before. He didn’t offer to shake Tyler’s hand.

William Nylander was one of the main chess pieces of Toronto’s leadership experiment. He had a reputation for causing problems for those that blocked his Family’s path. He always got the job done, and there were few that wanted to cross him. ‘Too smart for his own good’ was something every teacher, social worker and parole officer had called him throughout his short life. He was always destined for trouble and that made him a perfect fit for a Family keen on bringing some young, disruptive elements into the mix.

“The party’s started without you,” he added. His North American accent belied the Swedishness of his heritage.

“Yeah, I’ll be joining it late. Which room are they in?”

Willy was chewing gum. He turned it over and over his tongue for a while as he looked at Tyler with undisguised playfulness.

“You look like you need a big glass of water and some aspirin,” he said finally, ignoring Tyler’s question.

“Could say the same about you. Finally found someone willing to buy an underage kid some alcohol?”

“Listen here,” Willy said, his humour disappearing like a snuffed candle. He stepped close enough that Tyler could smell his aftershave mixed in with the distinctive animal smell of weed. “You don’t work for Toronto. You never did, except as some glorified runner when you were a kid. I belong here. Don’t throw a tantrum in our house and expect to get what you want.”

Tyler moved his face even closer. “Then stop making up arbitrary fucking rules just to mess with a visiting Family.”

“All of this just makes me think you don’t trust your boss to know what he’s doing in there.”

“Think what you want. We both know it’s because Marner lies through his teeth to get what he needs and he’s got new business from Buffalo he has to make money from. I can smell him lying a mile away. Which is why you don’t want me in there.”

“I can smell all the shit you drank last night and vomited up this morning. It smells a lot like the bullshit you talk all the time, _Seggy_.”

Someone shifted into view over Nylander’s shoulder. Kasperi Kapanen. The young Finnish man had made it his life’s work to never let more than sunlight get between himself and Nylander. He always looked like he was recovering from a nasty cold, his lips a consistent bright red, split and angry from Toronto winter. He had a permanent, petulant snarl on his face that singularly annoyed Tyler every time he saw it. The feeling was clearly mutual - Kasperi was looking at Tyler like he was a cockroach in his kitchen. Tyler knew if he took on Nylander, he’d have to take Kapanen too. 

“Screw you Nylander, why don’t you get out of my way and start some fires instead?” They were standing too close now. “Or, what, you ran out of matches after setting fire to the whole city of Vancouver? Maybe next time try to do it without crying for help finding your way home.”

Nylander shoved him first, but Tyler was ready. Kapanen was too. Tyler was outnumbered for the briefest of seconds before Faksa reacted. He hauled Kapanen out of the maul by the back of his shirt, dragging his body across the floor with a squeak of skin on linoleum. Martin joined the fray and smacked Tyler on the chin. He lost his footing, his head reeling, and dropped to the floor with Nylander on top of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The distinct voice of Carrick bounced around the hallway.

Tyler folded Willy in two with a knee to the gut and scrambled out from underneath Nylander him. He knew the house well enough to hit the bottom step and keep running. Fifteen steps, a kink to the left then three more steps to the top floor. Kapanen hollered obscenities after him.

Tyler snapped open the second door in the hall and fell in to the negotiating room.

Mitch Marner grinned brightly at him, unsurprised by the manner of his entrance. He was sat in the middle of an empty room, on an upturned box. Jamie and Jordie were in two chairs opposite him.

“Tyler.” Mitch declared. “We can always guarantee you to turn up and make things interesting.”

Jamie jumped to his feet.

“Tyler, what the hell?”

“Yeah, I look like shit, I get it.”

“I told them to look after you you at the hotel.”

Martin came over the threshold, looking ready to drag Tyler out there by his hair, but Mitch simply shook his head. Matt stopped in his tracks, snarled, did as he was told. He spun on the spot in time to catch a furious Kapanen and Nylander as they barrelled up the stairs. Kapanen called Tyler a string of names over Martin’s shoulder before Tyler slammed the door and the words were muffled.

He turned back to the room and smoothed his hands over his crumpled shirt. He didn’t have a moment to speak before Jamie was in his space, crowding him into a corner.

“What the hell are you doing here Tyler, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, Jamie, I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not.”

“I’ll get over it. Let me do my job.”

Jamie’s kept his voice low, but not low enough to disguise the anguish in his words to the other two men in the room. “Jesus Tyler, I don’t want you to do your job right now, OK?”

“Well tough,” Tyler said, pulling Jamie’s hand away from where he’d balled it up in his shirt. “I’m here. Let me do it.”

Tyler stepped around Jamie and took up the spare chair next to his boss’s vacated one. Jordie stared at his brother’s back in shock, seemingly unable to look at Tyler himself. Mitch waited, silent and but not still - his right leg jigged at the knee in a rabbiting beat.

Eventually Jamie returned to his seat. Mitch levelled Tyler a look. 

“You OK to do this?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll take your word for it. We were talking figures. Your brain up for that?”

“Always. If it’s anything under twenty, we’re going to fly home right now.”

Mitch laughed and the room fell back into negotiation. Jamie managed to get his brain back on track, eventually, but Jordie was dumb-founded and silent for the rest of the meeting, giving the corner of the room a thousand yard stare. 

Despite the real and violent urge to throw up, Tyler managed to keep himself together. And when they shook hands, the merchandise that Mitch had secured from Buffalo overnight was shared to the best of everyone’s interests. They’d done their job. It was an historic deal - for years Dallas was considered so far off everyone’s radar that they would never be much help to Canada. Now they’d found a way to work together. 

“I’d offer you a drink, but maybe not the best thing eh?” Mitch said, clapping Tyler on the shoulder as they left the room. There was no sign of Nylander or Kapanen, and Faksa looked relieved to see them ready to leave.

“No, probably not,” Tyler said, trying his best to smile politely in return. The pressure in his head felt like it might split his skull open, and his vision was becoming worryingly frayed at the edges, but he still had a few minutes before he could collapse. Jamie and Jordie were politely shaking hands at the door, but Mitch still had his hand on Tyler’s shoulder, squeezing in that overly friendly way Mitch seemed to be able to do without any self-awareness.

“What were you even up to last night?”

“Last minute plans with an out-of-town Family friend who I hadn't seen in a while. You’d know him.” Tyler offered him a wink. Mitch’s hand dropped from his shoulder and Tyler patted him on the side.

“See you later Mitchy. Make sure one of you comes down to Dallas some time soon.”

Tyler bypassed saying goodbye to the goons on the front door and stepped out into the blissfully fresh air. Dobby was waiting on the pavement outside, leaning against the side of the rental car and glaring back at Matt Martin, who’d taken up a position like a murderous sentinel on the doorstep. 

Tyler enjoyed clipping his shoulder against Martin’s as he passed. Matt didn’t react. He knew better than to go for Tyler in front of Jamie.

“Airport?” Dobby asked, opening the door up for his boss. Jamie nodded as he slid inside. A second black car moved in behind Dobby’s.

“I’ll see you there,” Jordie said, heading for the second one. Which left Tyler to climb into the back seat alongside Jamie.

The minute the door shut behind them Jamie turned to him.

“Are you ok?”

Tyler rubbed a hand over his eyes to avoid looking at that naked expression of worry on Jamie’s face.

“I’m fine. I’ll live.”

“You need anything?”

“Water and food and a load of pills.”

“I can get you the first two. But Bish said no pills.”

“You’re the boss. You can do what you want.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He slid his hand onto Tyler’s back and rubbed up and down. Tyler wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort himself or Tyler.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said to his knees.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. It’s all fine.”

“It’s not fine, Tyler. You went missing. You ignored my texts for hours, all my calls. Then your phone was turned off, none of us could reach you. I thought you were catching up with people from Toronto and you didn’t want to mix the two worlds. Whatever, I don’t care. But then you didn’t come back to the hotel. And then Tyson calls me from Denver saying something was wrong with you, because Biz called _him. _Who were you with that didn’t know to call one of us?”

Tyler continued staring down at his feet. He didn’t think the question was anything more than rhetorical. Jamie needed to get this out of his system. 

“And Biz told Tys you were freaking out. ‘Having a meltdown’, is how he put it. I thought…fuck, you were alone, and none of us knew where you were. You were lucky you were in a friendly city. I had to ask Auston where you might be, I didn’t know where you would think to go. Matthews sent four guys out to look for you, you know. _Four_. That guy wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire, but he sends four of his own guys out to find _you_.”

“I used to work in Toronto,” Tyler supplied in his cracked, broken voice.

“Not with Matthews. How do you…” Jamie broke off, that hint of breathless staccato he got when he was uncertain. “How do you do that? Get people on your side so quickly?”

Tyler turned round to see that Jamie looking at him with the frank and wide-eyed expression Tyler associated with that first meeting they had together, at the Gonchar wedding. Like Tyler was an amazing show happening in front of him, something he wanted to soak in totally and learn everything and anything about.

“I don’t know,” he said simply. Tyler unbuckled his belt and crawled across the back seats to Jamie. Jamie wrapped him up in his arms, pressed him close and kissed the top of his head.

“You said you’d tell me if it got bad,” Jamie whispered into his hair. Tyler nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There wasn’t a whole lot more he could say. He’d known that his mind was hair-trigger, ready to go. He was sure this wasn’t the last of it. But selfishly he had been enjoying this, him and Jamie. Admitting that he was ready to tip over the edge felt like it would spoil the first thing he had enjoyed in a long time. 

Dobby swung them into the drop-off zone at departures, right in front of a young guy with blonde hair smoking a cigarette. The guy gave them a nod each as they stepped from the car, and Dobby handed him the keys.

They met Jordie after security. Someone had taken care of their luggage, and Val had bought food for everyone. Tyler gratefully inhaled two boxes of something deep fried - he didn’t care, as long as he could get it in his stomach. 

* * *

The journey was torture. Tyler wasn’t a religious man, but he sincerely thanked the Lord when their plane touched down at Dallas Fort Worth and he could finally lift his head out from between his knees. Jamie’s hand was clammy where he’d pressed it against Tyler’s back the whole journey. He looked sick too, in a different way.

Jamie’s men immediately dispersed when they got to the house until it was just Jordie, Jamie and Tyler on the couch in the living room. Marshall and Juice came to see them and quickly went to sleep on the floor at their feet, happy that their masters had returned.

Jordie hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the house in Toronto. But Tyler had felt the weight of his stare, and he might just buckle if he didn’t say something.

Tyler folded himself onto the couch and closed his eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep here,” Jamie told him, though he was too exhausted to say it with much fight.

“Then why _are _we here?” Tyler croaked into the couch. “If you’re both going to yell at me can you just get it over with? Please?”

“We’re not going to yell at you,” Jamie said, his voice sounding just as wrecked.

“Fine. But I am sorry. I just…want to get that out there, you know, before you both do start yelling. Which you will. I’ve known you long enough.”

He was trying to joke it out, because whilst he could read Jamie like a book now - trace all that anguish and desire to make everything all better - he couldn’t read what the hell was going on with Jordie. Usually Jordie was the steady hand on the tiller, never needing to be read too deeply because he anticipated what everyone else was thinking and feeling before they even knew it.

Jordie pulled himself up off the couch, practically creaking. His broken arm was still in a tight synthetic cast and his eyes were pinched with pain as well as exhaustion.

“I can’t promise that there’s not going to be any yelling Segs. But tomorrow we’re going to talk about it. A lot. Be prepared.”

He slapped a hand down on Tyler’s shoulder and squeezed, the motion so familiar and welcome after such a long period of nothing that it made Tyler grin slightly deliriously into the couch cushions. He watched Jordie navigate round the back of the couch in the dark and briefly cup the back of his brother’s head as he headed to the door.

“Get some sleep. Both of you.”

Tyler felt Jamie shuffling around and soon he was lying down behind Tyler on the cushions, pulling one of the heavy throws down over them.

“I can’t be bothered to go to bed.”

“Oh thank god, me either,” Tyler said, wriggling happily under the heat of the blanket and against the solid feeling of Jamie wrapped around him. Keeping him close, keeping him together. Jamie and Jordie didn’t hate him for what he’d done, no matter what Tyler would think about himself, and that made everything a little bit better.

* * *

“Vincent Trocheck?”

Jamie, Jordie and Tyler had taken up their familiar spots at the kitchen island in the Benn brothers’ kitchen. Before they’d sat down they’d collected as much food and coffee as possible. Everyone else was dismissed for the day, so the house was empty except for Radulov sleeping on a sun lounger outside as ‘security’.

Tyler poured more coffee.

“Yeah. Vincent Trocheck.”

Jordie put his fork loaded with pancake down. “As in…the dead Florida guy?”

“He’s not dead.”

“Then whose funeral did we all go to?”

“Well it was his funeral, but he wasn’t there.”

“And you think that he’s still alive because Kucherov doesn’t have a right hand?”

“The clue was there, the whole time. That night I went to trash the Panthers bar, I saw Kucherov only had one hand. I told Patrice. Everyone heard about it eventually. We all thought that there was just the usual level of madness down there in Florida. Trocheck was dead, why would he be the reason it happened? But the timing works out, if Trocheck isn’t dead. I worked it backwards. The last meeting Kucherov had with anyone outside of Florida, as far as I can tell, was three months after Trocheck’s funeral. From then on, it was phone calls only. Patrice went down to Florida a few times but he never saw Kucherov.”

“You think that’s when he lost his hand?”

“Exactly.”

“But…couldn’t he have lost it some other way?”

“Come on, how many one-handed people do you know Jordie? It’s not like losing a finger or a pinkie toe in an accident or something. This is a whole freaking hand!”

Jordie rubbed at his beard. “I always thought that Trocheck taking his people’s hands thing was just a myth.”

“I’ve heard way too many stories from people I trust. I believe it. The man was a demon. That was why he was so useful for Florida. Him and his band of psychos helped them keep the whole state under control, even when they formed themselves into one Family and they nearly killed each other trying to work out who did what. They always used Trocheck as an enforcer.”

“But he’s not dead? That’s what you think?”

“I think Biz and I surprising them in their bar in Florida showed them something they wanted no-one outside the Family to see. It’s hard to hide a guy with only one hand, but they’d clearly been doing it for some time. I saw Kucherov that night.”

“Did Biz see him?”

“As far as I know, no. And Kucherov knew I saw him.”

“You think that’s why they chose you?”

“Hang on,” Jamie interrupted, waving a hand. “This doesn’t explain how you just suddenly thought of this. When you left you said you were off to see a friend. What happened then?”

Jordie resumed funnelling pancakes in his mouth, leaving Tyler to either sink or float under Jamie’s furious worry.

“When you guys the hotel, a guy came up to me and said I’d left my phone inside. I hadn’t, he’d stolen it. It wasn’t until they put me in an elevator that I realised.”

“Someone _kidnapped_ you?”

“No, god no. It was a…friendly kidnapping.”

Jamie’s brain clearly stuttered for a moment, leaving him blinking at his boyfriend with a blank look that Tyler knew belied fury.

“It was Connor McDavid, Jamie. Connor wanted to speak to me.”

“Holy shit,” Jordie said through a mouthful of syrup and pancake. “Jesus. Are you kidding me, Connor McDavid was in Toronto whilst we were there?”

“He was upstairs in the hotel we had the meeting at.”

“Wow,” Jordie breathed out. “Fuck, if only Auston Matthews had known.”

As far as Tyler was concerned, Matthews had indeed worked out that Connor McDavid was in town. Unable to confront his partner about it, he’d tried to set up a scenario where another Family would need entertaining in a hotel. Whether it was to catch Connor, or to torture Mitch’s nerves, Tyler wasn’t sure. He would leave that up to guys like Mo in Toronto to worry about.

“So Connor did a ‘friendly kidnapping’, why? To talk to you?”

“He wanted to talk about Florida. Apparently Stamkos has fled North America, and on his way out he warned Connor that something was coming. We also talked about what happened when Florida took me. Connor told me that whoever did it, got the idea when I trashed their bar some time before. That was what Stamkos told him. I must have stood out as a good target.”

“You were a good target because you were close to Patrice. And Boston is at the heart of the east coast. They wanted it to hurt.”

“And I saw Kucherov. I saw what they didn’t want me to see.”

“Why does it have to be Trocheck though? Why not anyone else from Florida, one of Trocheck’s goons? He wasn’t the only one that kept the discipline in Florida.”

“There are too many coincidences. Like a year ago, Patrice and I were in Philadelphia. Geno had beaten Luke Schenn’s brother up for bad mouthing Sid and we were asked to smooth things over. Voráček was there, and as we were leaving he told Patrice he’d seen Trocheck outside a bar in Florida.”

“Did Patrice believe him?”

“I don’t know. He was so worried about Florida back then that I thought he was just freaked out. But now…I wonder if he did believe him. And that it might have been true.”

“You did talk about Trocheck when you were recovering,” Jamie added, his gaze turned to his half full plate. “You said you were talking about him when you burst into that meeting.”

“Exactly. Trocheck’s name just keeps appearing too many times for a guy who is supposed to be dead and buried.”

“So why did Andersen find you outside a nightclub?” Jamie asked, his voice soft now. He’d picked up his fork again and was poking at his food.

“I don’t know. Don’t remember. I just had to get out of Connor’s hotel. And I couldn’t go back to mine. I needed to just…get rid of it.”

“When Freddie dropped you off, you were so out of it I wasn’t sure if we should take you to hospital. Rads said no. He’s never talked to me like that before. He told me you wouldn’t want to. That’s why we called Bish.”

“I was just drunk,” Tyler said, with a shake of his head.

“Not just drunk, Tyler. You didn’t know who any of us were. You were terrified.”

“Fine,” Tyler said, closing his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t have to come to the meeting with Marner.”

“Yes, I did. Because he’s tricky, and I’ve dealt with him before.”

“So have I. So has Jordie. You should’ve stayed at the hotel and felt better, and not got into a fight with Kapanen and Nylander.”

Instead of getting louder with anger, Jamie’s voice was getting softer, quieter.

“That’s my job.”

“Tyler.” Jamie said his name like a command. Tyler opened his eyes.

“Your job is not more important than you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means if you can’t face doing something, don’t do it. It means if you have to drag yourself out of bed and threaten Rads and Val to let you go to a meeting, then don’t do it. You are more important than whatever meeting you have to show up to.”

Jamie’s words hung in the air for a long while.

“Dumb-ass,” Jordie added for good measure.

Tyler sighed. “OK. I get it. I’m sorry. Next time I will just-”

“Next time?”

“Well I’m not _planning _on having another breakdown any time soon, but let’s see shall we?”

“You should have come back to the hotel,” Jamie said. He sounded miserable now. “Not just try to drink it away.”

“I forgot,” he said, honestly. “I forgot that was an option.”

“You forget that you have a whole Family watching your back and willing to help?”

Tyler shrugged. “I guess.”

Jamie stretched out a hand and squeezed Tyler’s knee.

“If you’re going to remember anything from this, just remember that? Please?”

Tyler slipped his fingers in with Jamie’s and nodded. It would take some doing, but he knew that he had to. He wasn’t sure when he’d realised it - maybe it was when Rads pushed his hair back from his gross sweaty face as he threw up in toronto, maybe when he fell into that negotiating room and he saw fear not anger on Jamie’s face. Maybe it was when Jordie had called him a dumbass. Whatever it was, he now knew that he had more important things to do than let himself drown because of his past. He had other people who wanted him to climb out of it.

“What are we going to do about this information?” Jordie asked eventually, as they tucked back into their food. “Everyone else is going to want to know that Trocheck could be involved.”

“You think they’ll listen to Tyler?”

“We all knew that Kucherov’s hand was missing when you went down to Florida. If that didn’t set alarm bells ringing then, it won’t do now.”

Tyler let his knife and fork clatter to his plate. “I know. And I know what I need to do to get them to listen. Brad was trying to talk to me about it in Washington.”

“What?”

“I need to remember stuff.”

“Tyler if you can’t remember anything, you can’t. You can’t force yourself to.”

“It’s not about forcing myself, it’s letting myself. I’ve ignored this for way too long. I need to try. For Kempe’s sake if nothing else.”

Jamie nodded. “OK. How can we help?”


	25. Chapter 25

Tyler woke Jamie up by straddling his hips over the covers and bouncing up and down. Jamie groaned and swatted a hand blindly at him.

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“Wake up.”

“I’m awake. What time is it?”

“Eight.”

“Jesus, why are you waking me up?”

“I got a phone call I think you’re going to be interested in.”

Jamie finally rolled onto his back, using his hands to stop from dislodging Tyler completely. Annoying as it was to be woken up before his alarm, he wasn’t going to say it was the worse sight he’d opened his eyes to in the morning. Long stretches of bare skin - tanned a little in the Dallas sun but not too much, Tyler was precious about his tattoos. The deep cut of his muscles into the pair of ratty gym shorts he’d fallen asleep in. He had a line across his left cheek from sleeping on the edge of a blanket. His bed-head was extreme to say the least.

Not a whole lot had changed since Tyler had confirmed he was going to start dredging up the memories of his kidnapping. But Jamie saw it, in the tense quiet moments when Tyler seemed to disappear right in front of them, lost in something. Jamie had promised not to pull Tyler out, not to try to stop him no matter how it made him feel. It had been easier said than done. Jordie more than once had to remind him that this was what Tyler wanted, and what the Families needed.

Whenever he saw Tyler like this - light, happy in his work, flirtatious - it made the shit around them worth it.

“Hey, stop feeling me up.”

“You’re the one who started it.” Jamie dropped his hands onto Tyler’s thighs and tried his best to get his brain online. “What phone call did you get?”

“It was from Bish. You know he’s gone home to St Louis to see his family? He was at a bar catching up with some friends and he overhead a drunken conversation between two St Louis Family guys. Apparently they were bragging about a new deal they’ve made under your nose. With Austin.”

That got Jamie’s brain in gear. He raised himself up onto his elbows.

“Austin?”

“This guy said they came to him with a piece of business without you knowing. St Louis are pretty happy with themselves. Bish wanted to let us know that we might need to pay our friends in Austin a little visit.”

Jamie wished it had been good news. Why was he never woken up in the early hours with good news?

“Fuck,” he groaned let himself fall back on the bed.

Tyler crawled his hands forward until he was braced over Jamie’s body.

“Do you need cheering up? Or is St Louis too much of a mood killer?” Tyler asked, kissing Jamie’s neck.

“Hmmm, I think I could just about manage.”

* * *

Austin weren’t officially part of the Family network. They existed as one of Jamie’s local state subsidiaries, along with Houston and San Antonio, that fed their money and their obedience to the Family in Dallas. They dealt with their own goings on day to day, made money the way they wanted, opened whatever kinds of businesses they could think of to launder money through. But ultimately, Jamie was just as is charge of them was he was in Dallas. Other Families had similar arrangements in their own states, but due to the sheer size of Texas it was a much more difficult offering for a Captain. It was hard to cultivate strong bonds when they were hundreds of miles apart and Jamie didn’t have the time to visit them regularly.

Dobby and Connor Carrick drove them down to Austin, to a place where Jamie knew they would find at least some of the Austin guys on a Friday night.

The _Cedar _club was a little too grungy and try-hard, making it popular with the younger and less affluent crowd in the city. Jamie had only been once, but he didn’t need guidance when he left the backseat of the SUV and head towards the door. And one visit or not, the men at the club entrance knew the boss when they saw him. They scrambled to get the door open for him and Jamie swept in with pause, up to the VIP level above the din of the dance floor. 

The young Austin crew were sprawled over a semicircle of leather couches. They all had a drink in hand and one of them was waving an empty bottle over his head towards the bar. It was hotter up here on the balcony, and Tyler instantly felt sweat spring to his skin. The air conditioning in the place was doing very little to clear the funk of a lot of people dancing and drinking their evening away.

“Oh crap, Riley!” one of them squawked when he saw Jamie coming their way. Riley Damiani was the highest up in the club that night. He went green when he saw that the Captain had arrived out of nowhere.

“Jamie, wh-what are you doing here?”

“St Louis,” Jamie said simply. He loomed over Damiani, his bulk blocking out the flashing lights so that the younger man was cast in shadow. “St Louis? Really?”

“Jamie, shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jamie grabbed Riley by the shirt with one hand and hauled him up out of his chair. He had him up against the wall, pinned by his throat, before his guys at the table could react. Rads barked a warning so sharp and so threatening the whole group snapped back down onto the couch.

“Good boys,” Rads told them.

“Listen to me,” Jamie said, voice low enough that only Damiani could hear. “You even think about St Louis in your _dreams _at night and I am going to disconnect your head from your shoulders, do you understand?”

“Yes,” the kid yelped. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Now tell me who approached you first about this whole thing. Because you’re too stupid to have thought about this yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Tell me who I’m going to go to St Louis to kill.”

“It wasn’t St Louis.”

Jamie watched the kid’s eyes flicker, widened to the size of saucers. He wasn’t lying.

“What?”

“It wasn’t St Louis that came to us with the idea. It was someone else.”

“Another Family?”

“Yeah, it was Anaheim. Josh Manson just arrived in Austin one day, said he had a proposal for us, he said it’d make us some money.”

Jamie pushed harder with his forearm, hard enough that Damiani choked a little.

“Now why would Anaheim turn up and tell you about a sweet trade deal for you to take to St Louis?”

“I don’t know Jamie. I swear, I don’t.”

The stillness in Jamie must have given something away, because Tyler appeared at his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“Apparently it wasn’t St Louis that came to these guys with the idea. It was Anaheim.”

Jamie turned his eyes to Tyler. “Did they find out about the guns we took off them?”

“They shouldn’t have. Subban would have told them he was taking them elsewhere, not where exactly. He’s not stupid.”

“Well Anaheim found out it was us. And they were going to use St Louis and these guys to screw us as retribution.”

Jamie turned back to Riley. “Didn’t you think it was a bit fucking suspicious when Anaheim came to you and tell you to do a deal with _St Louis_? Why would Josh Manson want to just give you a friendly tip?”

“I thought about that,” Riley said, still strangled by Jamie’s arm. “But it seemed a good deal. I thought we’d just try it.”

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Jamie, we’ve got to talk to St Louis about this. And Anaheim.”

“I know, I need to call Getzlaf. Tell Jordie to get him on the phone for tonight when we’re back in Dallas. I need to think about St Louis more.”

Tyler jerked his chin towards Jamie. “You wanna…”

Jamie turned back to Riley. His feet were knocking against the wall behind him.

“Oh, yeah.”

Jamie removed his arm and Damiani crumpled to the floor. Jamie lifted his smart dress shoe and needled it into Riley’s shoulder joint. “Don’t make any deal without consulting me again.”

“I won’t,” Riley gasped into the floor. One of the other Austin guys finally broke the spell by jumping up to help him. Riley pushed him away, red in the face.

“I’m fine, leave it.”

Jamie had his back to it all, giving Rads instructions to bring the car around. But Riley called after him.

“Jamie! He’s supposed to come tonight. Manson. Any minute now. We were going to talk some more about the details.”

And then, as though summoned like Bloody Mary, a pale shock of hair appeared over the top of the stairs, and Josh Manson scaled the last step. He had his phone in his hand and wasn’t looking where he was going. He was dealing with baby criminals. He didn’t think he had to keep his wits about him. When he looked up and saw Jamie Benn staring back at him, he knew how wrong he was.

Rads threw himself at the Anaheim man but Josh dodged and flung himself back down the stairs. He sprinted down to the lower deck, Radulov and Carrick on his heels. Tyler and Jamie followed and the crowds parted ahead of Jamie like water around rock. No-one wanted to stand in the way of six foot two and 200lbs of fury coming their way. 

Josh jumped the lower deck railing and onto the club floor, Rads in hot pursuit. He headed out of a side door being used as a quick and illegal way out into the smoking area. By the time Jamie and Tyler got out there and vaulted the fence, Connor and Rads were already tracking Manson down the rabbit warren of alleys behind the back of the club.

The group chasing Josh knew the streets well, but he didn’t. He changed his mind twice about the direction he was going in. Tyler didn’t realise he had his phone out until it was too late. He tried to give the guys a warning, but they were too far ahead.

Josh skidded to a stop just in time to avoid a car blasting out of a side street in front of him. It stopped with a screech of tyres and Ryan Getzlaf’s number two stepped out of the driver’s seat. They all saw the gun, but Connor was too close and moving too fast. Corey Perry shot him without pause, then turned his gun on Radulov. Rads halted and took two steps back. Behind him, Jamie stopped as well.

“Stay back,” Perry spat at him.

Jamie shook his head, his eyes on Connor. “You’re stepping over a line, Perry.”

Connor groaned from where he was splayed on the paving stones. Radulov knelt down alongside him and stuffed his jacket against the wound in his shoulder.

“You went over a line when you fucked with Getzlaf’s business,” Perry said. He was trembling slightly. “You _screwed_ us. They were our guns to sell, and your little Boston spy convinced them to give them to you instead.”

Jamie’s eyes flashed to his left and right. Tyler wasn’t with them anymore.

“Your boss messed up, Perry. It’s not our fault we can do the job better.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing a good job of running your state though, does it? Austin bit our hand off to trade with St Louis. Your biggest enemy, and these kids run to them, right under your nose.”

Josh laughed from where he was catching his breath round the other side of the car.

“You’ve got a discipline problem, Jamie.”

“Speaking of discipline, does Getzlaf know you’re in my territory shooting my men?”

Corey’s fingers flexed on the gun handle, which had drifted over to point directly at Jamie’s chest.

“Oh, I don’t think he’d mind. He wants your head, Benn. He’s gone to Kopitar about this. You can’t just take money out of California and not expect consequences.”

Jamie kept his eyes on Corey and away from the sight of Tyler and Dobby moving around the corner of the alleyway behind him. They didn’t have long, because Manson was beginning to realise that Tyler wasn’t with the other Dallas men. He turned to check the street behind them and before he could get cry out Dobby shot him in the arm, sending him spinning into the open car door. Corey turned too late to stop Tyler from bringing the butt of his gun down on the back of his head. He dropped his weapon and Tyler kicked the gun away, then delivered a second one sharply to Corey’s jaw.

Corey lay dazed on the pavement at Tyler’s feet, his eyes unfocussed on the sky above them. Tyler lifted up Perry’s firearm and tucked it into his belt.

“Look at that. Another gun I’ve taken off Anahiem.”

Tyler moved aside and Jamie took his place. He crouched down on the pavement next to Corey and waited for some of his cobwebs to clear.

“Tell Getzlaf that if he has a problem with how my Family operates, then he comes to me personally. Do you understand?”

Corey made a uncomprehending gurgling noise in response. Jamie stood and levelled a look at Manson, who was ghost white and trembling, over the top of the car.

“Get him out of here. And get the hell out of my state.”

They left Manson to drag Corey one-handed into the car. By the time he was able to drive away Connor was already in the back of Dobby’s car with Rads being driven to a doctor that wouldn’t ask questions.

Tyler and Jamie watched the Anaheim car leave in heavy silence.

“Well. That got ugly very quickly.”

“I never expected that from Anaheim. I thought Getzlaf and I were friendly.”

“The deal I did with Nashville must have sent him over the edge. We’re going to have to be careful.”

Jamie smirked. “Careful? I don’t think so. Anaheim didn’t just take some trade off us, they tried to do damage from within. If I can find a way to fuck off Ryan at all in the future, I am going to do it. He’s been warned.”

Tyler couldn’t help but grin and kiss him on the lips.

“What was that for?”

“You’re hot when you’re vengeful.”

* * *

They headed back to Austin once it was confirmed that Connor would be ok. The doctor wrapped up the bullet he removed and gave it to Connor as a gift. Dobby stayed behind to drive him back to Dallas once he was stable enough to do so.

Jamie, Tyler and Radulov arrived in Dallas just before the sun came up. Radulov got a call five minutes from the house.

“Yes. OK. I will, thanks.” He hung up and sighed. “Boss, when we get home you’ve got company. Jordie says the FBI are there.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler groaned. “I just want to go to bed. What is their problem?”

Radulov swung the car into the cul-de-sac that Jamie’s home dominated. They were greeted by the sight of three government-issue town cars parked at Jamie’s gate. Standing in front of the closed gates, arms folded over his chest, was Jordie. He was in sweats and a ratty shirt. He still somehow managed to look like he could take the agents milling around on his driveway single handed.

There were five of them, in ill-fitting suits that demonstrated a hard career with little to show for it come payday. The two older men had wrinkled, unbuttoned jackets and sour expressions as they leant against their open car doors - one completely bald, the other getting there fast. They both looked like they drank a little too much for their age. The two younger agents, a woman and a man in more neatly pressed suits and with better skin care regimens, stood patiently off to the side. The fifth agent was in the driver’s seat of one of the cars, speaking on a phone.

“Morning, Jim,” Jamie said as he stepped down from the car. “Bit early for you guys, isn’t it?”

Jim Montgomery moved around the hoods of their cars and put his hands in his pockets, which pulled his jacket back enough to show his sidearm.

“Jamie Benn. Where’ve you been all night?”

“Having some fun.”

“Really.”

Jamie nodded a head to the other older guy, who was still leaning against his car door.

“Who’s this?”

“That’s Mr Julien,” Tyler said, appearing around the other side of Radulov’s SUV. He gave Claude Julien a little finger wave.

“Hey Claude.”

“Fuck me,” Claude said. He slammed the car door shut and came over to stand in a mirror image of Jim. It was clearly a pose they taught them at the Farm. “When Montgomery said you were sunning yourself in Dallas these days, I almost didn’t believe him. But here you are.”

“Here I am,” Tyler said, squinting through the low angle of the morning sun. “You’re getting old, Claude. Out of the loop.”

“You’re right. I’m about to retire, think it’s time to leave the game to people with a bit more energy. But I thought you and I might some more fun together before my time was up.” Julien looked Tyler up and down. “And then when I heard that Dallas had been making new deals left and right, including one that took a load of merchandise away from Anaheim, I thought…well, that does sound like Tyler Seguin. We lost track of you in Boston after you left the hospital. And here you are. Wow. Don’t you move on fast.”

Tyler didn’t fail to notice the look Claude gave Jamie before sliding back to Tyler.

Tyler tried not to bristle too visibly. “I’m touched by your concern. Really. I might just cry.”

“Anaheim is exactly why we want to talk to you boys today,” said Jim. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jordie, still standing guard at the gate. “Only your brother wasn’t too fond at the idea of letting us in, Jamie.”

“Funny that. What do want?”

“You and the boys weren’t in Austin last night, were you? Tyler?”

Tyler shrugged. “Never been to Austin in my life.”

“Oh really?” Jim said, with a bark of laughter. “How about you, Radulov? You been to Austin before?”

Radulov lay on a smirk and an accent thicker then concrete. “Sorry. No speak English very good.”

“I see. And you, Benn? When was the last time you went to Austin?”

“Oh,” Jamie sighed with mock defeat. “You’d have to ask my brother. He keeps my diary.”

Claude hadn’t taken his eyes off Tyler the whole time they spoke. This guy had been up Tyler’s ass for years in Boston. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d been dragged out of his apartment, a nightclub, a bar, and arrested for various trumped up charges on Julien’s authority - mostly because they couldn’t ever finger the right person for an exact crime. Julien had decided Tyler was his favourite whipping boy. He hadn’t minded those so much, but there was a year when Agent Julien ordered a number of house raids on all of Boston’s senior Family members. Even Chara hadn’t been able to keep them out of his home once - though they’d been polite enough to tip him off that they were coming, so the boss had some time to brush his hair and put on a respectable set of pyjamas. Patrice hadn’t received the same courtesy, or the other guys living at his home. There was a picture, no doubt on Julien’s wall somewhere, of Tyler being frogmarched down Patrice’s driveway. They’d lined them all up in the driveway for identification and for the pictures they’d later leak to the press. Tyler had been young and stupid and called the officers names, then got a beating for his trouble. The police were smart enough not to take pictures of that.

“We only ask because two guys from the Anaheim Family had to check themselves into a hospital in Houston. One of them nearly bled out all over the seat of his rental car. Gunshot wound. The other was concussed and has a fractured jaw.”

“Ouch,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “Well, you’d have to ask someone in Houston, wouldn’t you?”

“Police in Austin tell us they were called to gunshots in an alley behind the Cedar club. They stopped a suspicious car a little further away, but the driver took off. He had a gunshot wound to his shoulder, and his passenger was unconscious. It was the same car the two in Houston were seen arriving at the hospital in.”

“Sounds like you must have got plenty of questions for them.”

A flash of irritation came over Montgomery’s face. “They’ve since disappeared from the hospital. I think it’s safe to assume that Getzlaf has them recovering at home back in Anaheim. Cedar is the club in Austin your boys use, isn’t it Jamie?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“So where were you tonight?”

“The Stars bar.”

“Can I speak to witnesses to corroborate that?”

“I’m sure you could if you asked.”

“And you, Tyler?”

“Same.”

Jim grunted. “You know what that smells like? It smells like horse shit to me.”

Jamie smiled. It wasn’t genuine. “Well, that’s the problem when you’re in the shit shovelling game, Montgomery. Everything starts to stink after a while.”

The four men stared each other down for a long moment. The agent in the car wasn’t talking on his phone anymore, and the two younger ones were statue still. An early morning breeze whipped their immaculate hair out of place.

“So unless you plan on arresting me, would you mind moving your cars? We’ve had a big night, and I need my bed. If you want to talk more about how you can pin the attack of two Anaheim guys in a city I wasn’t in on me, give me a call when I’ve had some sleep.”

The two FBI agents exchanged a glance.

“We’ll take our enquiries a little further. We’ll get in touch if we need to.”

“This Anaheim thing is not why I’m here,” Claude said. “We’ve been hearing some things about the guys down in Florida that make us a little…concerned. We were wondering if you’d be able to shed light on the situation.”

Tyler felt something hot prickle at the back of his neck. He refused to look away from the agents’ stare.

Jamie shook his head as he laughed humourlessly. “I would love to be able to give you a name and location and let you lot loose on Florida. But I don’t know anything that’s going on down there. Why would I?”

“Because you took in the guy who got the brunt of them last time.”

Jamie was doing a very good impression of calm on the surface, but Tyler saw the clench in his jaw and the way he played with the cuffs of his shirt, to keep his hands busy from turning into fists. He tried to catch Jamie’s eye, tell him it was OK, but Jamie was in his own world, sorting out his anger in that quiet, implacable way of his.

Instead of answering Claude, Jamie simply shrugged.

“OK,” Claude said. “You want me to be more specific? Our friends in Washington told us they saw a few of you guys rolling into town last week. Now why would Dallas, Boston, Pittsburgh and Washington need to get together for an emergency meeting?”

“You tell me.”

“I will, Jamie. I think it’s because you’ve all realised Florida didn’t die the death you hoped last year. And that the fuckers are coming back. Would I be right?

“Why don’t you ask Florida then, hey? Your colleagues in Florida should do their jobs.”

Claude smacked his lips. “They’ve been looking for that Kempe kid. Guess what. They found him. In a ditch at the side of the road.”

Tyler felt the earth rock underneath his feet.

“Shot in the back of the head, execution style, though that was only the last thing they did to him. There is a long list of stuff the pathologist is going to have to report for that poor kid’s autopsy.”

Tyler tried to blink away the heat in his eyes, but it didn’t work. He needed to sit down. They were too late. Kempe hadn’t been as lucky as he had been.

“You’re a little too north of Florida to be asking questions about what happened to Kempe in that state. Go and ask them.”

They couldn’t. Jamie knew that, Tyler knew that, all the agents gathered in that tense semi circle knew that. The Florida Families were a no-go for the FBI, for many a lucrative and bloody reason. If Claude was annoyed by that particularly wound being poked, he didn’t show it.

“Well…Jamie, Tyler, and Radulov, in case your ability to understand English has come back, consider this a warning. We won’t be looking too kindly on those Families that decide to stand back and let a war happen with Florida. Or, god forbid, incite one.”

The three of them kept their mouths shut.

“We’ll be seeing you very soon boys. Welcome to Dallas, Tyler.”

They waited as the agents packed themselves into their vehicles and drove away. Jordie, still at the gate, finally unfolded his arms.

“Well, that was unpleasant.”

* * *

Tyler staggered into the house, his head thick and muffled with panic and fury and fear. 

“Tyler.”

“I need to call Biz.”

Bissonnette picked up on the second ring.

“What happened to him?”

The sound was muffled for a moment, Biz’s deep voice somewhere off in the distance saying a few quiet words. Then the speaker cleared to the echo of a different room.

“Sorry, I was with Mario. Needed to find somewhere private.”

Tyler closed his eyes briefly. In his panic to find out what the hell happened he hadn’t let himself think of Adrian’s brother, faced with this hideous news.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Biz.”

“They wouldn’t let him identify his brother’s body, can you believe that? Fucking cops down there are wrapped around that Family’s little finger. They got some FBI agent down from Arizona and he confirmed it.”

“What happened to him?”

“Jesus Tyler, I can’t…fuck, everything. I’m angry they didn’t let this kid see his brother one last time but maybe it was a blessing. You heard about the voicemail?”

“What? No.”

There was more off-mic scraping and scratching, then a disembodied voice floated down the line. Someone screaming.

Biz mercifully cut it off after a few seconds.

“What the hell was that?” Tyler asked, his voice a tremor.

“That was Adrian. They sent it to Mario, like he isn’t destroyed enough as it is. They sent it to me, to Kopitar, Toffoli got one too.”

Tyler’s blurred vision caught Jamie moving into view. He was holding his phone out, screen turned toward Tyler. A ten second voice recording was playing from an unknown number, the sound turned off.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?”

“Biz, they sent it to Jamie too.”

Biz did a lot more swearing. He was moving around, no doubt turning his room upside down to find another of his many phones.

“Shit, Chicago got it too, Toews just texted me. And Nashville.”

“Find out who else got it,” Tyler told Jamie. “They’re sending it around the Families.”

“Look…fuck, I’ve got to go Seggy, I’m about to leave for the airport with Mario. Adrian’s body arrives in Los Angeles tomorrow. And I can’t keep him together and manage this at the same time. Call everyone you know, ask them to find out who received it. This might be the warning we’ve been waiting for.”

It turned out to be a very long list. Chicago, Philadelphia, New York, Washington. Even Tyson Barrie called later in the day, his voice trembling.

“What the hell did I just hear on my phone? Was that-?”

“It was Adrian Kempe,” Tyler said, rubbing at his face. He hadn’t had a chance to sleep yet. Jamie was sat to his right, hand on his leg, the gesture both a comfort and a necessity to keep him from sliding right off his seat.

“Fucking hell. Why are they sending this to people?”

“I don’t know, but everyone else is taking it as a warning. Be careful, OK?”

Tyson chuckled humourlessly. “No-one has any interest in little old Colorado. Look after yourself first before you worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

“You OK?” Jamie asked, squeezing the meat of Tyler's high. 

“I need to sleep,” Tyler simply said, his voice a mere croak after all the talking.

“We’ll go to bed,” Jamie said, all but picking him up from his chair. “Jordie can manage it for a few hours.”

Tyler crawled under the sheets in Jamie’s heavenly bed and listened silently as Jamie moved around closing the blinds and trying to darken the room as best as possible.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

“Whatever I remember, it’s too late for Adrian.”

Jamie wrapped him up, in blankets and his arms, and whispered away all the screaming in his ears long after he went to sleep, tear soaked and trembling.


	26. Chapter 26

Jordie found his brother standing at the kitchen island, the only light to illuminate him coming from the outdoor security beam. At first he thought he was staring down at just the marble, but his phone was in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jordie asked, knowing Jamie wouldn’t be surprised to see him. If Jamie was awake then typically Jordie was too, and vice versa.

“Just thinking,” Jamie said, still looking down at his phone, the screen dark. Jordie cocked his hip against the other side of the island, his arms folded across his bare chest to keep away the chill of the house at 3am.

“About what?”

“Kempe’s funeral details came through. Sid sent them to me.”

“When is it?”

“Next week.”

“And why is that keeping you up at three in the morning?”

Jamie dropped his phone to the marble but didn’t look up. “Just wondering if it’s the best thing to go.”

“You have to. You’re the Dallas Captain.”

“Not me. Tyler.”

“Oh. You talked to him about it?”

“No. I got the email just before we went to bed. He needs his sleep.”

“Well give it a few hours and he’ll give you an answer. He’s the only one who’ll know if he should go or not.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said on a sigh.

“How’s he doing?”

“Fine, he says.”

“He remember anything?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nothing that he’s told me. But I’m pretty sure he’s messaging others about stuff. Trying to piece things together. I’m leaving him to it.”

“I thought he was going to go downhill after the Kempe thing.”

Jamie folded his arms onto the marble and nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

“I was worried about him. But he seems…”

“OK? Yeah, he does. I think he’s distracting himself with something. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s got a plan of some kind.”

“For what?”

“I guess to remember what happened. He hasn’t said anything, I just get the feeling he’s distracted. And ever since he’s been like that, he’s seemed a lot happier.”

“Well that’s good, right?”

Jamie ran a hand over his face and stood up straight. “Yeah. It is.”

“Anyway, if you want something to distract _you_, I’ve got it. Jen called this evening.”

“Oh. Right.”

“She said Mum’s birthday is coming up. And did we want to do anything about it.”

Jamie’s face pinched.

“Um…what did Jen want to do?”

“She wanted to know what we thought first.”

Jamie turned and started fiddling with the empty glasses in the sink, as if Jordie wasn’t able to read the back of his head like a book.

“Thought about what?”

“Well she’s turning sixty. Jen thought she might want to see us this year.”

Jamie let out something between a growl and a sigh. “Now is hardly a good time, is it?”

“Jen just wanted to check that we weren’t-”

“Well you and Jen can do what you want.”

“We need to decide together, the three of us.”

“You guys decide, I’ll go along with whatever, OK? If I have time.”

“You have the same time as I do.”

Jamie dropped a fork with a high-pitch clang against a glass. “Jesus Jordie, I’ve got more important things on my mind right now.”

“I get it,” Jordie said, knowing that only calm kept Jamie’s sulk spinning into rage. “I’m just letting you know Jen wants us to think about it. She might call you.”

“Fine.”

“Try not to fall out with her this time. Oh and Jamie, I can see you rolling your eyes in the reflection in the window. Grow up.”

* * *

When Tyler woke up the next day, Jamie wasn’t in the bed next to him. Tyler rubbed his hand over his face and tried to tune his senses to the house around him. The voices of Khubodin and Val arguing floated in through the window, and John Klingberg’s flutey Swedish came from the hallway outside the door in a one-sided conversation.

Eventually, inevitably, Adrian Kempe’s name echoed in Tyler’s head like a broken stereo. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep for a half hour longer. When he came around again it was to the sight of Jamie standing over him. Klinger had stopped talking. Dobby was full-on yelling now, which meant Val had got too close to his cars and was pissing him off.

“Morning.”

Jamie dropped something light onto the covers above Tyler. Tyler untangled himself from the sheets and picked it up.

“A letter?”

“Don’t know. Jordie found it in the mail box this morning. It’s addressed to you.”

Tyler sat upright and peered sleepily at the large Manila envelope. _Tyler Paul Seguin_ was written on the front in cursive, and it was neatly sealed shut. He ripped it open with little care and tipped out the contents. It was five large, glossy photos printed on A3 paper.

“Wow. Claude moves fast.”

“They’re from him?”

“I’d bet my house on it. This is like Agent Julien’s idea of a love letter.”

The first photo a shot of a pissing awful Boston night. It was dark, except for where the flash bulb overexposed everything it touched: the red brick side of Patrice’s house, the tops of the ornamental bushes, the streams of freezing rain that ran between the cobblestones. In the centre of the photo, three guys were lined up and smeared by the sheeting rain. Brad Marchand was on the far side, in sweatpants but shirtless. His hair was already drenched in the rain. His hands were cuffed in front of him and he was taking a step forward, mouth open in a shout to someone standing beyond the reach of the light. A hand came out of the darkness on that side, held out aggressively as if to warn him to get back.

In the middle was Patrice in a grey shirt, sweats and sliders, his usually immaculate hair rinsed through with rain. He had a sneer on his face and was looking straight ahead, just to the right of the camera. His head was up high and his wrists were flexed in their cuffs. On his other side was Tyler, in just a pair of shorts that were barely holding up against the rain. He had his cuffed hands in the air, gesticulating to someone to the right, in an almost mirror image of Brad. He was yelling something too, his face screwed up to one side in a perfect look of ‘_what the fuck_?’ The tattoos on the ribbons of his ribcage stood out starkly.

The second photo had almost the exact same composition, except this time the people Brad and Tyler were shouting at had entered the flash of the bulb. One was pressing his hand against the back of Brad’s neck, another at his elbow, trying to push him to the floor. Two others were on Tyler, but hadn’t managed to get a grip on him. He was reared back, elbows up, still yelling. Someone was pulling Patrice away and towards the camera. Bergeron was turned to look over his shoulder to watch the scuffle unfold.

“What was going on there?” Jamie asked, lowering himself carefully to sit at Tyler’s feet. He’d calmed at a lack of panic on Tyler’s face as he’d pored over the photo, but still slid a strong hand over Tyler’s bony ankle and squeezed.

“These were the house raids in Boston, Claude did a lot of those one year. It was in the middle of the night. I think I was actually sleeping naked when they arrived, and the agent who came into my room ordered me to put something on before I left.”

Jamie gave a small smile. “You would have gone out naked, wouldn’t you?”

“Totally.” Tyler laughed a little, running a thumb across the top of the spiky hair of his image. He was glad he’d made the choice to grow it out.

“The second photo is when we all started getting chippy. They were taking ages, and it was freezing and pouring with rain. They took exception to the comments.“

“What happened next?”

“We were all taken down to the station. They wanted to nail us for all sorts of things but Chara, as always, had friends in very powerful places. I didn’t go in front of a judge that time, though Brad and I got fines for resisting arrest. Patrice paid them for us.”

Tyler shuffled the photos.

The third one was much calmer. Tyler and Patrice were standing outside a bar somewhere in Downton Boston. Tyler couldn’t remember why they’d been there, or which bar it was, but it was a picture taken pretty early on. He was skinny, super skinny, and clean shaven with short hair. He had his fingers dug into Patrice’s belt, pulling him closer. Their foreheads were pressed together. Patrice looked drunk, going by the lose hair and the way his head was cocked, mouth open laughing. Tyler was about to steal a kiss to stop whatever nonsense had probably been tumbling from his mouth. Tyler hadn’t seen Patrice drunk like that in years.

It seemed like decades ago, or a different version of himself. It was a photo of a different Tyler Seguin standing on a sparkling cold Boston sidewalk, laughing with the guy who would soon become head of the Boston Family, leaning in to kiss him, delighting at the sound of his laugh.

The fourth photo was even older. He barely recognised himself in the crowd of young men being approached by four officers spilling out of two patrol cars. It was in Brampton, Canada, with a familiar cluster of buildings in the background - even the sidewalk and the tarmac of the road beside them looked comfortably recognisable. Tyler could identify Brampton by a blade of grass if he needed to.

He pulled the photo closer to him, eyes tracing faces that were as good as ghosts from his past. The guys he’d counted dirty money with, committed petty theft with, got drunk with long before he was legal even in Canada. This was before he’d been welcomed into the Family flock, when his Mom still got calls from school and various child protective services about his behaviour. He’d already had a spell at juvie under his belt and the grungy bars in Toronto he was heading for felt like the height of excitement and glamour for a fourteen year old kid from Brampton.

In the photo his face was in profile, just an extra in a snap taken to get a picture of someone else - his old boss, Aries. He was in the middle of the gang of teenagers, half turned away from the officers. He looked to be seriously considering booking it across the lawns of the nearby houses. Aries hadn’t been able to get up out of his recliner without making the same noise as a stricken pig, but he was able to run from the law as fast as any of his teenage sidekicks. He had a brooding forehead, thick eyebrows, a mouth quick to laugh with the gang of boys he ordered to do his bidding and knuckles quick to knock a kid out if he thought he was laughing at him. Tyler wasn’t the subject of the photo but he still stood out, all straight lines wound too tight, his body caught mid expression of disagreement with the officers coming their way.

He didn’t remember what they’d done that time. Maybe it was one of many of his public nuisance charges.

“Who are they?” Jamie asked, his voice a little tight. Tyler absent-mindedly rested a hand on Jamie’s where it braced his ankle and squeezed a little. These weren’t bad memories. He didn’t need Jamie to jump to protect his feelings.

“Back when I was a baby criminal. The first group I used to run with, the guys my Dad worked with.”

“The Greeks?”

Tyler’s eyes crinkled in a mixture of amusement and surprise. “Jesus, how did you know that?”

Jamie chuckled, suddenly a little red across his cheek bones. “I did some reading up.”

“When?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to know if I was being stalked or you were just doing a background check.”

Jamie laughed and gave him a pinch. “Shut up.”

“Tell me. When?”

“I guess…after the Colorado Summits. When I saw you working there. I looked into your past a little bit back then. I didn’t know if you were going to stay with Boston, lots of young guys used to bounce around back then.”

Tyler shook his head. “You surprise me every day, Jamie Benn.”

Jamie shrugged one shoulder. “I figured I’d best know as much as I could about you. Wherever you ended up, I needed to keep an eye on you. You would be a very difficult enemy to have.”

Tyler lifted the photo and pointed at Aries in the centre of the group.

“He worked with my Dad. He was the boss, basically, but they’d been sharing power across a few old guys for a while. His name was Aries.”

“Was?”

“Nothing related to his criminal life, he just had a heart attack one day at home. He pretty much just ate processed meat and smoked cigars, I’m amazed he made it to fifty. He used to come round to my house when I was a kid. He was one of my Dad’s best friends. I called him Uncle Aries. When my Dad died, he came around with his wife. She cooked dinner for us all that night, ‘cos my Mom couldn’t even get out of bed and I only knew how to do microwave meals. She was nice. And then two years later Aries died and Mom told me she went round there, to return the favour. Mobster wives have that code, I guess. She told me his wife answered the door all dolled up. Made my Mom and a load of other wives martinis and they all got shit-faced and bitched about their men. I don’t think she shed a tear. Don’t blame her.”

Jamie’s finger touched where Tyler’s was lazily circling his own profile in the photo.

“What happened to your Dad?”

“You mean your in-depth research didn’t pick that up?”

“Fuck off, it was hardly in-depth. I mean…I know he died when you were fourteen, but not how.”

Tyler let out a big sigh. “The usual, you know? Dad was an old-school mobster in a suburb of Toronto. He was high up but they barely registered outside of Brampton. He always hated the Toronto Family, said they were too rich and stuck-up for their own good. Always claimed he know how to do the job.

He mostly did loan sharking and one day he picked the wrong person to loan money too, the son of a boss in the Toronto Family. This kid was into the party life but wasn’t trusted with his own money, so he got his drug money from my Dad. When my Dad eventually started putting the pressure on to collect, the kid panicked and robbed a house as part of a plan to pay him back. The house he chose was one of the people his Dad worked with. Another boss. Fucking idiot ransacked this guy’s house of all the art and tech, his wife and daughter’s priceless jewellery, and tried to fence it. The Family thought it was a job from the outside. Thought was Montreal trying to make a point, or even New York. They went berserk. Then his Dad found out his own son had robbed them to cover his drug debts.”

“Who was his Dad?”

“Mats Sundin. When he found out it was my Dad that had loaned his kid money, he decided to go for some quiet justice. Dad went missing, and on the third day they found him in the trunk of a burnt out car.”

Tyler put the photo down, pulling himself physically out of the memory, dragging his mind back to his bedroom and all the other shit he had to deal with. He, very honestly, rarely thought about his Dad. It seemed like another lifetime ago, one thick with haziness and apathy. If he ever thought about his Dad it was because he was worried about his Mom.

“Aries never said anything about it, so I guess he knew it was Toronto Family justice. He knew that my Dad had stepped on toes that he shouldn’t have. There was no revenge or retribution. He’d made a big mistake, and it cost him.”

“And you ended up working for the Toronto Family?”

“Eventually. Mats Sundin wasn’t around by the time I got there. He’d retired out to Saskatchewan somewhere, became a farmer. No-one seemed to recognise my name when I started in Toronto. And I didn’t care what some old boss of theirs had done. It was cool, working for Toronto. I got to leave Brampton behind.”

Tyler pushed the photo away quickly, not wanting to linger any longer on a past so long ago it felt like it belonged to someone else.

The next print out was taken at the Gonchar wedding. Tyler and Brad were perched on one of the cars that had delivered them to the reception. Brad was slugging from a bottle and flashing his middle finger at the camera. Tyler had his mouth opened wide in laughter and had both middle fingers up too.

“Wow,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “This was the wedding where you and I met.”

Jamie hummed in acknowledgement, eyes on the photo. “I remember. Why were you doing underage drinking right in front of FBI agents?”

“They wouldn’t have dared, not with Gonchar there. You know Gonchar went out and shook their hands, before the reception kicked off? Sent a few waiters out with cups of coffee for them, made sure they were comfortable, even gave them a few of his family’s camping chairs to sit on. That was the deal. He let them sit there and take every picture they wanted as we came in, but they weren’t to touch or speak to any of the guests.” Tyler laughed. “So Brad and I thought we’d be little shits.”

“You were a little shit,” Jamie admitted, taking the photo and inspecting it. “And look at your hair.”

“Hey, there is only one person in this room who has a tragic hair past, and it’s not me. Give me it.”

Tyler wasn’t quite sure how it happened, how digging thorough Tyler’s history turned Jamie on so much. Maybe it was the sight of him in handcuffs - hey, Tyler wasn’t going to judge. All he knew was that one minute they were wrestling over the photo chirping each other’s hair and the next Jamie had Tyler pinned diagonally across the bed, mouthing at his underwear.

If Tyler had the immediate headspace to think about, he would have guessed this was down to Jamie’s seemingly endless quest to get to know Tyler more. Tyler wasn’t even trying to be secretive - if the right person asked, he was an open book. He wasn’t nearly as shadowy figure as some in the Families would paint him. But he always noted the look in Jamie’s eye when he said something about his past, about his innermost thoughts, about the innocuous things that made him up as a person. It made him light up. Even when it was sad shit about how he worried about his Mom, or weird things like allergy to pineapple, or the downright depressing stuff like how his Dad died. Jamie was clearly intent on collecting every single thing. And Tyler was happy to give them to him. If telling him about the stupid things he’d done as a kid made Jamie want to suck him off, he wasn’t going to argue.

“Listen, I need to tell you something,” Tyler said, panting into the nape of Jamie’s neck later, when they’d made a mess of the bed and the photos had been scattered to the floor. 

“Hm?”

“I promised my Mom I’d go see my grandparents. I thought I’d go this weekend.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie was panting too, his words just gusts of breath that he was trying his best to even out.

“I’ll fly to Toronto one day, come back the next. I just think I need to do this now, or I won’t get time for a while. I’ll be back here before Kempe’s funeral.”

“You should take someone for protection.”

“No, Jesus. It’ll be fine. I promise, just a quick trip. I’ll let Auston know so he can keep an eye out.”

Tyler slipped his hand back under the covers and Jamie groaned. “Sh-shit wait, give me a minute.”

And that, as Tyler was concerned, was all the conversation they needed to have about where he planned to be that weekend.

* * *

“What do you want to do with these?” Jamie asked, when both had come back to life after a long, comfortably heavy afternoon nap. He was picking up the photos from where they’d fluttered to the floor. Tyler held out his hand - the picture of him and Patrice was at the bottom of the pile, Tyler noted - and stuck them back into the envelope.

“Guess I’ll just stick ‘em in my safe?”

They got themselves dressed and downstairs into the kitchen for a coffee, ignoring the mix of stink-eye and smirk that Jordie gave them across the room. When Jordie finally exited to take a call from Washington, Tyler slipped a hand around Jamie’s waist and spun him around for a kiss.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m just going to take some stuff home. Need to put those photos away. I was serious about getting the picture of Brad and I framed. That’s his birthday present sorted.”

“Alright,” Jamie said lightly, kissing him once on the lips then just under the ear for good measure. “You coming back for dinner?”

“Yeah, tell Jordie to get grilling, I want steak tonight. See you later.”

Tyler slipped the photos into his gym bag with a few clothes he needed to dump at his place, and headed out.

Two minutes from Jamie’s house he took a left turn instead of a right. He was at Radulov’s house five minutes later.

“Oh, hey Seggy,” Radulov said, his voice a croaky mess.

“Hey Rads, how you feeling?”

Rads groaned and meandered back into the house. He was pale and clammy, and looked sallow beneath his scraggy beard

“Ugh, like shit,” he grumbled as he shuffled into his living room. “How many days you have this Seggy? Can’t do this anymore.”

‘This’ was a stomach flu that had torn through the Family over the last few weeks. Tyler had got it first, unsurprisingly, then Bish had caught it whilst monitoring Tyler through it. Jamie got a minor version of the bug and was over it within a day, but by then it had managed to spread beyond the house and to most of the guys. Rads was one of many that were now out of commission with it.

“Three days, four at most. But you got a lot of puking ahead of you I’m afraid man.”

Rads flopped himself down onto his couch. “Jesus. Can’t be doing with this now.”

Tyler did all the things expected of him as a friend and fellow sufferer - topped up his water, got him painkillers for his headache, set him up on the couch with something mindless on the television. When he was comfortable, Tyler stood up and lifted an abandoned cup of tea.

“Let me get you another one.”

He headed off down the hallway, leaving Rads to sneeze at the daytime talk show he’d landed on. But instead of going to the kitchen, he slipped down the L-shape of the corridor and into Radulov’s bedroom. The bedside table was a litter of tissues and abandoned phone chargers, the bed unmade and half sliding to the floor. Tyler teased open the side table’s drawer and started rooting around. He came across a gun, more phone chargers, bottles of painkillers, condoms, and then - stuck into the bottom slat of the drawer so that it was half poking into the one below - a long, rectangular ticket. Tyler slipped it out of its hiding place and into his back pocket.

A few minutes later he pushed a cup of tea across the coffee table to Rads.

“OK, here’s your tea. I’ve got to go Rads, get better soon hey?”

Tyler drove home, slid the ticket into the envelope with the photos, and locked it in his safe.


	27. Chapter 27

“You’re not seriously going to Toronto, are you?” Jordie asked, watching Tyler walk around the kitchen at the Benn house, collecting various bottles of medication.

“Yup.”

“But why?”

“Grandparents, dude.”

“Yeah you said that, but why now?”

“Look, it’s Kempe’s funeral next week, and we are getting no where with the whole ‘let’s hope Tyler remembers everything’ plan. No-one has heard anything new out of Florida, and everyone in the Family is going back to their regular work and ignoring the impending Bad Thing that’s surely going to happen. Why can’t we? I’ll be gone for twenty four hours, max.”

“That was…” Jordie trailed off, gulped more coffee then smacked his lips. “A lot.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it. I’ll be fine.”

“You know that is what you said to Bergeron, right before you went to Carolina and got kidnapped?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Literally you, me and Jamie know about this plan right now. How can anyone know I am going to Toronto and organise something bad to happen to me? I haven’t even bought my flights yet, I’ll do that at the airport. Anyway, Toronto is a hell of a lot further north than Carolina was.”

Tyler switched his focus to plane snacks. He wasn’t going to spend a fortune at the airport like a chump, so he figured he’d pack some things to tide him over now. He emerged from the cupboard, chip bags in hand, and discovered Jordie was staring at him.

“What?” Tyler prompted him, his fists stuffed with snacks bags of blue corn tortilla chips.

“Did Patrice ever look into that?”

“Into what?”

“You weren’t supposed to go to Carolina that weekend, right? It was a last minute thing.”

Tyler unzipped his holdall and dropped the bags in. “Yeah? And?”

“So how did Florida know they could grab you in Carolina, if they didn’t even know you were there?”

“There were a few Families there that day. We all figured they noticed me there and thought they’d go for it. Or, maybe they just knew they’d go for someone that day, and I ended up the best target.”

“But Patrice was meant to go, right?”

“What are you getting at, Jords?”

Jordie shrugged. “Just checking someone’s asked the right questions.”

“Believe me, I asked them all.”

That didn’t mean that Tyler had liked the answers.

“Can’t you take protection, or something? For this sudden and last minute random trip you are taking to Canada. Take someone with you.”

“Who? Everyone’s laid up with this stomach flu. Dobby texted me last night and told me he was waiting for death.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but he’s a drama queen, he’ll be fine.”

“What does Jamie think about it?”

“What do I think about what?” Jamie asked, entering the room barefoot but wearing a golf shirt and slacks.

“Tyler going up to Toronto like this.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at Tyler. “Did you tell me about this?”

“Are you kidding me? We talked about it earlier this week. I told you. You know, when we were…”

“OK Jesus Tyler, stop winking, we both get what you and Jamie were doing when you talked about it. Please, not in front of me.”

Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle. He hooked Tyler around the waist and reeled him in.

“I’m sorry. I forgot. Twenty four hours, right?”

“In and out. Say hello my Mom, visit my grandparents, drink some beer, with my granddad, sleep in their guest room, eat my bodyweight in homemade pancakes the next morning, get on the early afternoon flight back, be home by lunch. You won’t even miss me.”

“I will,” Jamie said into Tyler’s lips, cupping the back of his head for a kiss.

Jordie stood up loudly from the island and left them to it.

“I know this is last minute,” Tyler said quietly into the mere inch Jamie was now letting between them. “But I will be careful, I promise.”

“I wish you would take one of the guys.”

“Which one? Rads, with the non-stop shits? Or Oleksiak, who is currently throwing up six foot seven worth of vomit?”

“Ugh, don’t. What about Connor?”

“His girlfriend texted me to say she’s thinking of calling an exorcist instead of a doctor. Come on, you know what that bug was like, they’re not in a state to travel. I’ll be fine.”

“OK,” Jamie said, holding Tyler close. “Be careful. Call me as often as you can.”

“I promise.”

“Can I not even drive you to the airport?”

“You’ve got a golf game with that city councillor to win. Don’t worry about me.”

“Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll call you when I get to Toronto.”

* * *

Jamie called him as he was queuing to board his flight.

“You get through OK?”

“I texted you that.”

“Just double checking.”

“Are you still golfing?”

“At the ninth hole. I’m pretending I can’t see his PA fish the councillor’s ball out of the pond. You about to board?”

“Yeah, I’m at the front of the queue. Go do your job Jamie, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“You said that.”

“It’s true.”

“And I love you. See you tomorrow. I’ll say hello to Canada for you.”

Tyler hung up and quickly opened up the boarding pass on his phone. The ground staff checked his fake ID against his boarding pass and began scanning everything through the machine. Her colleague lifted the tannoy microphone and cleared his throat before hitting the button.

“Ladies and gentleman, American Airlines are now pleased to welcome our passengers seated in rows twenty five to thirty. That’s rows twenty five to thirty for flight AA one-one-four-eight to Boston Logan International.”

* * *

Tyler kept his head down as he passed through the final checkpoint and into Boston Logan’s arrivals hall. It was risky coming here and not just because he could be seen by someone from the Family. Local detectives certainly wouldn’t care that he now worked down in Dallas - if they spotted Tyler Seguin at the airport they’d get to tick some cold cases off their list.

But no-one was expecting him, or knew to look out for him, so he made it to the car rental desk unnoticed. He rented a naff saloon with a fake credit card and ID, and drove to a dilapidated brownstone in a hardworking but ultimately neglected part of the city.

The door’s building had a long-faded number carved into stone by the front door, and the lock box for the key was hidden behind snarled ivy. He popped in the combination _9137_ and didn’t hide a relieved sigh when the casing sprang open. The key box had let in some damp, and the key was rusted, but it let him into the side door easily enough. He shot up the stairs, trying to keep his feet light on the floorboards. There was lose panelling in an upstairs bedroom, underneath the bare bedframe. He teased it open and another wave of relief hit him. His go-bag was still there. Patrice and Chara had always told them the importance of having exit strategies. Fake IDs, money, credit cards, change of clothes, anything that would allow them to skip town at a moment’s notice. Tyler had four planted around Boston and this one - in an abandoned safe house that no-one in the Boston Family bothered to maintain - was the least conspicuous. When he’d left the Family he’d never bothered to have them removed. After all, he never knew when he might need them again.

He locked up the house, stowed away the key and loaded the bag into his rental.

Tyler waited until he was out of Boston city limits before pulling over at a service station and inspecting the bag. Everything was as perfectly wrapped in old musty clothes as it had been when he’d stored it - a fake ID, a credit card in the name of a man who’d died fifty years ago, and a knife.

He drove for a longer stretch this time, calmly responding to texts from Jamie as and when they came through, letting his fingers drum against the steering wheel

At another gas station just outside New York City he ditched the old clothes and picked up the bag he had packed back in Dallas. He locked himself in the bathroom with a shattered mirror above the sink and pulled out a black top with an obscenely low v-neck, and black pants that were a little too tight for comfort. He put the whole ensemble on, winced as he slipped his bare feet into loafers, and tried to do something with his hair. He looked at the resulting picture his new costume painted in the smashed glass.

It was enough. As long as he didn’t open his mouth, he might get away with it.

He stashed the clothes back in the rucksack, paid for the gas and pointed the car towards Manhattan. 

When he was as close as he dared he abandoned the car in a bad neighbourhood, fully expecting it to be propped up on cement blocks within thirty six hours. He took a cab to Grand Central, trying not to let his head get too whipped up into the frenzy that was Manhattan at night. At the station he threw his rucksack into left luggage, pushing everything inside the locker except his fake ID, his credit card and the knife at the small of his back.

And the ticket. He held the paper ticket in his hand as he flagged down another cab outside the station.

“Where to?” The driver asked, already peeling away from the curb.

“The Kosmo.”

“Ah, you here for Kosmo Night? Been taking Russians there all night.”

The cabbie peered into his rearview, his smokey grey eyebrows hunched over a considering gaze.

“You don’t sound Russian,” he said, blunt as anything.

“Going with some friends,” Tyler said, keeping his eyes pinned on Manhattan racing past his window.

“Weird lot, those Russians. No offence, you know, sure your friends are great. But kind of weird, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yep,” Tyler replied having no idea what the guy just said. He didn’t listen to the price of the trip and stuffed a handful of cash through the plexiglass partition when they arrived.

“If anyone asks, you never took a fare down here at this time, OK?”

The driver took the cash calmly and without comment. Tyler let himself out into the freezing New York night and the cold took his breath away.

The Kosmo was perched rather precariously on a spit of land by the water, in a neighbourhood that used to be working fish markets and was now being bought piece by piece by predominantly wealthy foreigners looking for some fun. The building was an old fish preparation plant that, like its produce of years gone by, had been gutted and cleaned top to bottom for more discerning tastes. Its owner had fled Putin’s Russia in the early noughties and made a home in America - at least, when he wasn’t on his yacht in the Bahamas. Most of the year the club existed as a separate entity to its owner, entertaining the lazily rich and socially aspirational Manhattan crowd. But once a year, this obscenely rich man organised a night to celebrate his own. And so was born Kosmo Night, one of the biggest and most glamorous of Russian expatriate nights. It had quickly become a big hit with the Family Russians. They existed like their own network with the Families, knowing one another to a deeper core than the North Americans ever could. And on this one night of the year, they collected in a warehouse by the Hudson River and let their Russian flags fly freely. They dressed, spoke, lived, breathed Russia with each other, no matter the Family they came from.

Tyler had known about the night for years. There were a few Russian guys from Boston who scrimped and saved for a ticket every year. And then there was Ovechkin, who had a personal private booth every year where he liked to host his friends and old Moscow connections.

As far as Tyler could tell, this night was his one and only chance to get to speak to someone who otherwise would never dare show their face in a public place.

Which raised his first problem. How to get in to a night for Russians only?

Tyler slipped the paper ticket he’d stolen from Radulov’s bedside table from his pocket to his hand. When he’d heard that the stomach bug was ripping through the security and drivers in the Dallas Family, his plan had finally become a reality. Radulov had been bragging for months about getting him and Dobby some ‘premiere’ tickets to the big Kosmo Night. It was going to be the best year, he’d claimed loudly to anyone who would hear it.

And then he was too sick to go, and Dobby soon after. And Tyler saw his opportunity.

Tyler smoothed his hair back and glanced at the others in the queue. He looked respectably Russian as long as no-one inspected him too closely. Or asked him to talk. The bodyguards on the door looked cold and disinterested in their job. If he could get past them and get into the crowd, he would be OK.

He’d been deposited right at the back of the Kosmo queue and he had nothing but a shirt on. He folded his arms around himself and buried his chin into his chest. He was good at this, he told himself, he had plenty of years of training. Boston had been fucking freezing and Toronto had been even worse, and he had plenty of years experience hanging around on their streets dressed in too little clothing waiting for sight of a person, or a car, or nothing at all. Instead of focussing on the cold he went over his plan again and again. He was too frozen to sweat, but he was sure it would be dripping off him if the air temperature was any higher.

In the end it didn’t matter that he was alone and kind of un-Russian looking when he got to the front of the queue: he had a ticket, so that didn’t matter. The bored doormen gave him a look up and down, half-heartedly waved a metal detector wand across his front, then let him in.

He entered the club and the frozen crystals on his body hair and eyelashes instantly melted in the curtain of muggy air.

The Kosmo Club was huge, and Kosmo Night was even bigger. Dozens of Russian men and women were barely contained up to the ceiling of the huge former warehouse. Each floor opened out onto an echoing central space, where the momental sound system was suspended and the light show was taking place. Those floor denoted your particular level of VIP, and Tyler would make it only up to the third floor according to his ticket. Hopefully he wouldn’t need that to find who he was looking for.

He stood on the edge of the dance floor and tried to get his bearings. The music punched right through to his bone marrow. The playlist appeared to be ‘Loudest House Tracks of the Late 90s’ and the DJ was doing a good job getting it out of the speakers.

Tyler had to find someone without being found himself, and therein lied the problem. Almost every Russian from the North American Families was packed into the building. All he needed was to be recognised by someone and for that someone to think it pretty weird to see Tyler Seguin at a notoriously Russian night far from home.

But it was dark, and cramped, and everyone had their faces to their friends, to the distracting sight of beautiful people dancing, to their drinks. Everyone was insular tonight, hunting out their old compatriots and swapping war stories. No-one was bored and looking for something to stand out. This was what Tyler was banking on. He moved through the crowd with his head turned down even as his eyes scanned the people he passed.

By the time he’d made one sweep of the room he could make a long list of Family names. Ivan Provorov was there with a beautiful girl on his arm and a big group around him. Artemi Panarin was in an intense discussion with someone who looked like the kind of guy who sold yachts to the people in the VIP sections. All six foot five of Nikita Zadorov from Colorado was wedged into a booth, laughing around the rim of a shot glass.

There was no sign of Tyler’s target.

The second floor was a fraction quieter and elevated above the sticky din. People hung around in groups, dancing or drinking, feeling smug at what their little bit of extra cash had secured them. Two bars on either side of the building kept them well stocked, each with a smaller crowd than the ground floor. Tyler did a walk-through and came up empty, though he saw Vladimir Tarasenko holding court with his wife in a private booth and Ilya Kovalchuk knocking back the vodka with a group of guys. All of them were dressed identically to Tyler. 

He headed up to the third floor where the music was even more deafening. There were fewer people and groups were able to command spacious seating areas with leather couches and bottle service. It was harder to hide up here. He gave the floor a sweep and didn’t dare stay any longer. He felt desperate. He had to go back down to the main floor if he was to stand a chance of finding him, but he was starting to feel conspicuous.

It didn’t help that he almost caught the eye of Evgeni Malkin as he passed by a corner booth. Geno was with Alexander Ovechkin, and even if Tyler knew objectively that they were close friends, and that Kosmo Night was a perfect opportunity for them to get together without their other halves and relive their glory days, it always made him stutter to see them together in a friendly setting.

He could have sworn that Geno spotted him, and for a fraction of a second Tyler thought his plan had just been ruined. But Geno’s eyes slid away without recognition and Tyler moved on.


	28. Chapter 28

Tyler circled like a hawk for another hour. He had unread messages from Jamie on his phone, questions about his grandparents and a photo of Marshall. He had to reply, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his eye off the crowd. If the guy slipped past him, that was it, he may never have this chance again. And if he was spotted, he wasn’t sure he would be able to talk his way out of this one.

Tyler was looking across the dance floor as the strobe lights kicked in with full force for the next song. And one of those intense flashes picked out the white of John Klingberg’s face in the crowd.

John froze as their eyes met. His friend looked guilty, then for the briefest of seconds his gaze went over Tyler’s shoulder.

Tyler spun around and managed to avoid Jamie’s hand as it came towards him.

“Jamie, what the hell?”

“Tyler,” was all Jamie had a chance to say, before the drop kicked in and the dance floor exploded into movement. They were separated from one another in the flailing crowd and Tyler fell back, almost to the floor. He was shoved to the side and then he went skittering out of the mob, landing to his knees at one of the banquettes at the side of the room.

When he looked up, Nikita Zadorov was looking down at him.

“Um….” Nikita said, staring down at Tyler like he was a ghost. Then Jamie was there, hauling Tyler to his feet.

“Tyler.”

“Look I know, I know OK, I just thought I could-”

“You thought you could come to Kosmo Night and catch Nikita Kucherov out in public.”

Tyler gaped up at his boyfriend, his eyes a dark kaleidoscope in the frantic lights.

“Yes,” he said, tilting up his chin. He wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness for this. “I thought I could get some answers.”

Jamie’s fingers squeezed where they were holding Tyler’s arm. “I know. I’m here to help.”

“What?”

Jamie turned to Nikita, who had been staring at both of them with a face like he’d been caught doing something unspeakable by his mother.

“Zadorov,” Jamie said. Tyler had no idea when Jamie would have learnt this new Colorado guy’s name. “Dallas needs a favour from you.”

Nikita blinked once, then turned to the woman on his right and said something low in her ear. She slid from the booth, letting him out of the banquette, and then lifted her glass and encouraged the rest of the table to do the same. She made a loud toast to something, drawing all the attention to her, as Nikita slipped away and joined the Dallas boys.

“Sure, Jamie. Whatever you need.”

“Come with me,” Jamie said, nodding his head over to a corner.

Tyler was shaking with spent adrenaline. Seeing Klingberg, seeing Jamie…in a horrifying moment he thought his whole plan was going to go to waste. That he had ruined not only his chance of catching a Florida man in the wild but of his relationship with Jamie.

He’d lied to his boyfriend, lied through his teeth. And though he was good at it, and wore that like a badge of honour, not everyone else felt the same.

And yet Jamie was there, pressed along his side, looking absolutely single-minded, dark. On the hunt.

Radek Faksa and Klinger were waiting for them in remote pocket of quiet.

“Hey runaway,” Faksa said to Tyler with a smirk. Klinger shook Zadorov’s hand absent-mindedly.

“Anyone seen him?”

“Nothing, Jamie.”

Tyler should have known. He should have known when Geno looked right at him earlier. It wasn’t that Malkin hadn’t recognised him or hadn’t seen him properly through the terrible nightclub lights. It was that he hadn’t been surprised to see him. That was the only way Jamie and his men could have got into this nightclub, with someone on the inside to help.

Tyler finally found his voice.

“He’ll be on a lower floor. He’d blend in more, less chance someone from the Families might see him. If he goes too high up he’d come across people who could order him dead. Kovalchuk is here. He’d rip Kucherov’s other hand off himself.”

“Who do you think he’s with?”

“I’m guessing Barkov. Every time I’ve heard Kucherov’s name these past few months, Barkov’s hasn’t been far behind. I don’t know if he’s his handler or his bodyguard or even if he’s his boss.”

This wasn’t information that Tyler wanted to scream across the bass of house music. But needs must.

“Remind me,” Faksa said, his eyes not leaving the crowd around them. “Why do we want to speak to Kucherov again?”

“_We _don’t. I do. All I remember so far is that Kucherov was there, when I was kidnapped. Before that happened he lost his hand and Florida tried to keep him hidden. I think that’s because Trocheck took it as a punishment for something and Florida didn’t want anyone to know that Trocheck was still alive. We don’t know anything about Florida for sure. But that’s what I wanted to do tonight. To find Kucherov, to talk to him, to try to get some answers.”

“And if we don’t?” 

“We have to try,” was all Tyler said. His planning didn’t go that far. He’d got himself up to the point of meeting Kucherov in a dark corner of the club. And his brain hadn’t let him think or plan any further than that.

He knew, deep down, that that made it the most stupid plan he had ever come up with.

“I think I know where he might be,” Zadorov said. He was wearing white trousers and a slate grey linen shirt with brown leather deck shoes. He looked like a guy who’d forgotten where he’d moored his yacht, which made him pretty much the most knowledgeable person in the group. 

They let him leave to explore his own ideas. And Dallas hunched against the wall, trying to remain inconspicuous.

Before Tyler could help himself he had his arms wrapped around Jamie’s middle and was pushing his face against Jamie’s neck, where he hoped Jamie could hear him.

“I’m not apologising for this.”

Jamie slid his arms around his shoulders and touched his lips to the shell of Tyler’s ear.

“I don’t expect you too.”

“But I am sorry I lied to you.”

“I found him,” Zadorov interrupted them with his reappearance, his brow furrowed seriously. He guided them towards the dark space underneath the stairs, where a few solitary bar tables and equally solitary drinkers were lurking.

And so was Nikita Kucherov.

He was glowering into the middle distance, his eyes pinned to the dance floor just over their shoulder. Someone was on his right talking in his ear, and Kucherov either wasn’t happy with what was being said or with the guy saying it. When the other man turned around Tyler saw that it was indeed Aleksander Barkov. Barkov looked down at the beer bottle he’d picked up and said something bitterly into its neck before draining the remaining beer in one pull. Kucherov was wearing a suit jacket over his shoulders and the arm without a hand was nestled into a sling. Seeing them together sent something ice cold through Tyler’s chest.

And then his hands began to shake. Not with fear. Anger.

Tyler launched towards the pair. Aleksander saw him coming. He threw an arm forward across Kucherov, but Tyler already had his hands inches from the guy’s throat. Then arms snagged him around his middle and lifted him from the ground.

“What the hell?!” Barkov yelled furiously at the pair of them as Jamie hauled Tyler backwards.

Zadorov snapped back at him in Russia, pushing the pair further against the wall they’d been hiding against.

Tyler forced himself out of Jamie’s grip.

“I’m fine.”

“Jesus Tyler, don’t kill him.”

“I know, I know.”

Tyler pulled himself together, yanked his shirt back into place. Kucherov was watching them with a wide-eyed grin.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Barkov asked, a whole lot less amused. Zadorov put his hand to his chest and pushed him back a little more, so that his spine touched the cool of the brick wall. “You stay there,” he said, in English this time, using his height to box Barkov in. “And shut the fuck up.”

Radek hauled Kucherov further away from his Florida colleague, knotting his big fist into Kucherov’s shirt.

“We’d like a little chat,” he said. Their voices carried further here, behind the sound system. The people who had been drinking at the bar tables had disappeared. People at this nightclub knew when to leave a party they hadn’t been invited to.

“We? Who is we? You, Jamie?” Kucherov’s face and voice was a smirk. His beard was ragged, his eyes red. He didn’t look like a man who was taking care of himself.

“You think you can come here and ask me questions like this?” he asked, sounding amused more than anything.

“You think if I made an announcement that I was going to take you round the back and shoot you in the head that anyone in here would stop me?”

Jamie retreated at that, leaving Tyler to it. Radek stayed behind Tyler, eyes on Kucherov’s only hand.

“Tyler Seguin,” Kucherov said, shaking his head. His jacket had slid down his shoulder, revealing the sling where his arm rested. “You are always full of surprises.”

“I know you were involved the first time Kucherov,” Tyler said, getting right to it. “I know you were there.” He had to keep his voice low and steady, he had to not show his emotion. Kucherov was the kind of man that fed off fear - Tyler wouldn’t be able to tell if he was lying to upset him or telling him the truth.

“If you know then why you ask the question?”

“Because it’s happening again, isn’t it? Your Family are planning something, it’s started.”

Kucherov took his gaze away from the middle distance and fixed Tyler with something like a glare. “You know nothing, Tyler Seguin. You think you know everything, you always have. You run around and think your brain is the smartest thing in the Families. But you know nothing. About Florida, about me, nothing.”

Tyler moved closer.

“What did you do to Kempe?”

“Who?”

“Is Vincent Trocheck involved?”

Tyler thought he saw something. Maybe. A flash, a flicker, at the sound of Trocheck’s name. But it wasn’t enough. Kucherov wasn’t an easy man to read. Instead he laughed.

“You think a dead man is walking the streets? Kidnapping and killing and plotting downfall of the other Families?”

“I wouldn’t put it past a psycho.”

“Hey,” Kucherov said, his smile now a smirk. “Let’s not get name-calling, shall we? I could say some things about you, Tyler Seguin. Vincent Trocheck was a good man, but he’s dead now.”

The aggressive tactic wasn’t working. Tyler smoothed his hands down the side of his shirt where it had ridden up in his lunge at Kucherov’s throat.

“I’ve got to ask you something, Kucherov. Why would you follow a guy who chopped off your hand?”

Tyler lifted his own hand and pulled the suit jacket back onto Kucherov’s shoulder. Carefully, slowly. Behind him, Faksa twitched. Kucherov watched Tyler’s hand brush something invisible off the material without moving his head.

“I know you’re pretty old school down in Florida. But if I’d found my place in a Family, enforcing my Family’s rules by whatever means necessary, I’d be pretty pissed if the guy who ran me turned around and took my own hand for something. I’d expect him to treat me a little better. Wouldn’t you?”

Kucherov pulled his lips back but didn’t say anything.

“So, what did you do Kucherov? Did you steal something? Or did you touch something or someone that wasn’t yours?”

Tyler didn’t fail to miss the slight flicker of a muscle in Kucherov’s throat.

“Or did you do something against Miami? Trocheck was never a fan of the whole ‘one Florida Family’ thing, was he? He always liked Miami to be Miami, and Tampa Bay to be Tampa Bay. And he was a Miami guy. I guess he was pretty hard on you, with your Tampa Bay allegiances, if you guys worked so closely together. He must have demanded a special brand of loyalty if he was going to trust you to do his dirty work with him. Did you have to lose your hand to prove it?”

Kucherov lunged forward quickly like a snake, and Tyler killed every impulse to recoil backwards. He stayed stock still, letting Kucherov get in his face, his black eyes inches from Tyler’s own.

“You will never understand what we do down in Florida, Tyler Seguin. No other Family has the balls to do what needs to be done. We’re all going to die, all of the Families, because we are too interested in being fucking politicians. Colorado, what the fuck is Colorado? You use them to pretend you are civilised, but we are not supposed to be. What do you think a Family is? It makes money, it does what it wants, it _controls_. It answers to no-one. And then you all made up your own rules and you choke yourselves. Now we can’t do anything without permission first. We bow and scrape to police and Mayors and each other. We give polite call before you beat someone up, but not too hard, nothing worse than two days in hospital. We are supposed to be above those rules. We always were. And now we make our own rules and we are killing our Kingdom with them.”

“Is that when Trocheck tells you?”

“Troceck doesn’t need to tell me anything, I know what I believe.”

“He must have told you something to make you follow him, or you would have left when he took your hand. He is asking a lot of you Kucherov, putting you in a lot of danger. Why would he make you do that?”

“He does not _make _me do anything.”

“Well I guess he made you say goodbye to your hand.”

Kucherov smiled without a hint of joy. “We do things old-school in Florida. If you knew anything about history or loyalty or where our Families come from, you would understand. Trocheck understands it. He does what needs to be done, and that means that Florida will be the only Family left by the end of it.”

“By the end of what?”

Barkov shoved Zadorov backwards and was at Tyler in two steps. “That’s enough,” he growled, peeling him away from Kucherov. Babysitter, Tyler thought. Barkov is definitely Kucherov’s babysitter.

“You can’t do this, jump us outside of a Family meeting. If you want to speak to us, do it the way we are supposed to.”

He’d physically inserted himself between Kucherov and Tyler. His skin was waxy and translucent, and he was sweating. He looked ill.

“Thank you, Kucherov,” Tyler said, speaking right over Aleksander’s shoulder to the Russian behind him.

Tyler pushed his way through the dance floor and out through the entrance. The bouncers looked up as he rushed out towards the road then stopped, hands balled up in his pockets. Jamie followed after him, and the security men turned away.

He joined him staring into the traffic.

“I don’t know if I got what I wanted out of that,” Tyler said to the cars as they sped past inches away from them.

“You needed to do it.”

“I did. I needed to look him in the eye. I needed to see him with Barkov. I needed to put some things together. Is anyone going to listen me though?”

“We’ll do our best.”

Tyler nodded. Jamie slipped his hand into his.

“You’re a pretty good liar,” he said, as though he were commenting on Tyler’s golf swing. Tyler chuckled.

“Yeah. You’re not bad yourself. Sending me photos of Marshall when you clearly weren’t home?”

“You send me about ten a day of him, I had plenty to choose from.”

They stood in silence for a while longer. Radek found them eventually and brought round the car, but still they didn’t move. Klingberg loitered with Zadorov, who was waiting to be dismissed.

“Tyler,” Jamie said under the rush of the cars. “I don’t care that you didn’t tell me something. I don’t care about the secrets you want to keep to yourself. Except for the ones that might get you killed. I need to know the things that will keep you safe. That’s non-negotiable.”

There was a lot more that they probably needed to say to each other. How Jamie can’t have been happy when he realised that Tyler was lying to him. But how he already had managed a level of understanding of Tyler’s life to realise there were things he would never know or understand about him.

How it went both ways. How there were acres of things that their relationship had yet to skim past, never mind delve into.

But for now, it was all they needed.

“Fair enough,” Tyler said, squeezing Jamie’s fingers. He let go and turned to Nikita and Klingberg.

“Thanks for your help.”

Zadorov shrugged his big shoulders. “Did you get what you need?”

“I did.”

“What exactly?” Klinger asked, his pale forehead puckered in a frown. “He denied everything. He didn’t admit to anything. He didn’t say that he killed Kempe. He didn’t tell us anything.”

“He said enough. Trocheck is still alive, that much I could tell. He was trying his best to keep it under wraps, but he wanted nothing more than to gloat about what he had planned. Trocheck took his hand, Trocheck is leading whatever this next attack is. Believe me.”

Klingberg looked doubtful. “I trust you Tyler, but…what can we say to the other Families? What can we say to Arizona? That you think Kucherov looked shifty when you talked about Trocheck?”

“He talked about him in the present tense,” Jamie said.

“He’s Russian, he gets his tenses mixed up.”

“He talked about him in the present tense when he lost his cool and he wanted to gloat about what Florida were doing,” Tyler insisted. “Until then he made an effort to conjugate his verbs the way he should. And it wasn’t just him, Barkov told us something too. The minute Kucherov began to rant about what they had planned for us, Barkov jumped in. He wanted to stop Kucherov before he gave too much away. They _are _planning something, they _did _kill Kempe, and we have to make sure that the other Families know it before it’s too late.”


	29. Chapter 29

They got back to Dallas with only 36 hours until Adrian Kempe’s funeral. Tyler crashed at Jamie’s and slept straight through 16 of those hours. When he woke it was the dead of night, and Jamie wasn’t in bed. He searched for him through the house for a while unsuccessfully, the dogs padding along after him. Eventually he found him in his brother’s room. Without letting the Benn brothers know he listened and watched them quietly, talking face to face across Jordie’s bed, something quiet and secretive, too low for Tyler to make out clearly. The dogs got bored of sitting and waiting and nudged through the gap in the door to join them. Tyler had already stepped back down the hallway to the bedroom. He woke up a few hours later to the dip of the bed on the other side, and Jamie’s arm came up to bracket his waist. He pretended to be asleep and wondered about what was still unspoken and unknown about James Randolph Benn.

* * *

There was a rap of knuckles against the door of their bland Los Angeles hotel room. Jamie came out of the en-suite, fingers busy with his cufflinks. He snapped the door open with his elbow and Tyson Barrie was leaning against the doorframe.

“Lots of handsome-looking men in the room,” Tyson said, breezing in past Jamie.

“There were until you walked in,” Jamie said without missing a beat. Tyler had almost said the words himself, and was startled into remembering that these two were old friends. Secret old friends.

“I resent both of you not telling me that you even knew each other,” Tyler said as Tyson arranged himself on the edge of the hotel desk. “Never mind that you were old friends going back to childhood.”

“Why would I have told you that?” Tyson asked. He was wearing a black suit and tie, his white shirt neatly tucked in and the silver of his belt buckle shining. For a guy who spent most of his time on a ranch in the middle of nowhere Colorado, he was pretty good at dressing up for an occasion. “You just can’t stand not knowing things, Tyler.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Any other childhood friends who are also Family bosses that you need to tell me about?”

“Jamie doesn’t like to throw it around that we know each other at the best of times. He’s ashamed of me.”

Jamie strolled over to Tyler and stuck his hand out. Tyler got to work on his fiddly cufflinks.

“Of course I am. Look at you.”

“Fuck off. Anyway, are we ready for this? You guys packing?”

“No guns allowed in the church.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, we got Rads, Faksa and Oleksiak armed up to wait outside. Klingberg and Janmark are going in, they want to pay their respects to Kempe and see his brother. How about you?”

“Gabe, Nate and I are going in. Calvert, Z and Bellemare are going to be outside. It’s going to get crowded in that parking lot. I think Sid invited half of Pittsburgh. He’s nervous.”

Tyler looked up, triumphant in his work on the cufflinks. “He never leaves anything to chance, pretty normal behaviour for Sid.”

“No, Nate talked to him last night. Crosby is genuinely nervous. He thinks we could all be sitting ducks.”

“For what? No-one from Florida is invited.”

“Like an invitation is what stops someone coming in and shooting up a mass gathering of their enemies.”

There was another knock on the door, and Tyson helped himself to the task of answering it.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Nate looked uncomfortable in his suit, even though it fitted him perfectly. Tyler got the feeling that Nate had been dressed by Tyson, going by the big watch on his wrist and the way he tugged at the sleeves of the jacket. He looked tense.

“Was just telling the guys you were speaking to Sid last night.”

Nate folded his arms to lean back against the wall and the suit jacket shifted to reveal his side arm. Tyler was pretty sure he wouldn’t be taking that off before he entered the church, like he was supposed to.

“Be careful, he’s really worried something might go down. He thinks other Families are being too relaxed.”

“Sid worries a lot,” Jamie said with a shrug. “We’re being careful.”

“You’re the ones bleating about how Florida coming for all of us, that Kempe was just the start. Take your own warning seriously.”

Tyler let them all make small talk for a while. He had his tie and hair to sort out, but his mind was also whirring quickly in the background.

Tyler thought back to that night in Colorado when they’d drank in Gabe’s office. When Tyler had told them that Adrian Kempe was missing. He thought about that flash of a look between Gabriel Landeskog and Nathan Mackinnon. Two guys who existed on some different plain from everyone else, able to communicate without speaking and agree without needing to vocalise. But in that moment, Gabe had realised Nate had lied to him about something. Small as it might be, Tyler had picked up the information like a breadcrumb and kept it cradled at the back of his mind for weeks. This was his blessing and his curse. He could never let anything go.

Well, now was as good as time as any.

“You were supposed to go to LA not long after we did,” Tyler said to Mackinnon. Tyson and Jamie looked up from where they’d been messing with Jamie’s tie. Jamie looked at Tyler, but Tyson looked straight at Nate. And Nate, well, he turned to stone.

“Kopitar would have told you about Kempe then. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Gabe when I told you guys in Colorado. But it was, because you hadn’t told him, because you didn’t know. I didn’t know where you could have gone that had to be so secret. And then I remembered: I called Pittsburgh one of the days you were supposed to be LA, wanted to talk to Sid. They said Sid was off grid with Kris Letang, and he couldn’t be contacted. He only goes silent with Letang when it’s time for him to go back home. You told Gabe you were going to Los Angeles but you got a plane and went to Cole Harbour to deal with something with Crosby.”

There was a long, icy silence. Tyson looking up at Nate, Nate at Tyler, Jamie’s eyes shifting between the two of them.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Nate asked eventually. Not with anger, or surprise. As bland as could be.

“Nothing. I just needed to confirm it. Call it an itch I needed to scratch.”

“Cole Harbour has got nothing to do with you.”

“I told you. I just needed to get it out. The hicks giving you trouble?”

“You ever think how _you _always get yourself into trouble, Tyler? You ever realise it’s because your brain works too hard?”

The ensuing silence turned brittle. Then Tyson straightened up from Jamie’s tie and put his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t think it’s the done thing to be late to a funeral, guys. We’d better be going.”

And like that, it was done. Nate pushed away from the wall and checked his gun.

“Who you got outside the church?” he asked Tyler. That was the good thing about Nate. He let things slide off his back, easy as a duck sluicing away water.

“Radulov, Radek Faksa and Oleksiak.”

“Good. Sid’s not wrong, and I for one believe what you say about Florida. We’re targets in there. Watch yourselves.”

* * *

The funeral was at a Lutheran church in an affluent Los Angeles neighbourhood not far from Anze Kopitar’s home. Large palm trees flanked the vaulted front doors of the tall, white building, offering a tinkling of stiff leaves as a warm wind came through. Black suits and equally black cars filled every outdoor space around the church - the car park, the street, the manicured lawn by the front steps. A few members of the public slowed down as they passed to watch the spectacle, hoping to catch sight of someone rich or famous.

Churches made Tyler itchy. Imminent attack by another Family made him even itchier, so by the time they’d milled around for a while he was practically breaking out in hives.

“You got fleas?” Tyson asked him under his breath as they found themselves in a loose circle with Jonathan Toews and the Chicago Family.

“Fuck off,” Tyler whispered back, but made an effort to stop twitching.

Toews looked like he was sucking a lemon.

“Seguin, Benn. Last time I saw you Tyler, you were working in Boston.”

“Yeah, been a while,” was all Jamie said to that. They talked a little light business as the groups around them continued to mingle. Nate had his hand as close to his weapon as was polite, and Tyson refused to take his eyes off Gabe as he moved through the guests shaking hands. Toews gave Tyson and Nate a distracted handshake once he’d clocked who they were.

“This is just…” Jonathan waved a hand in an abstract gesture of anger. “I mean, we only just narrowly avoided this with you, Tyler. What the hell do they think they’re doing? This isn’t the eighties. We don’t just kill each other to make a point. This is why you guys in Colorado exist, right? Keep us all on the straight and narrow.”

“We let you all come to our ranch and yell at each twice a year to try to avoid situations like this.”

“Exactly. What’s the point if we do this?” Toews looked over Tyler’s shoulder and visibly twitched.

“Fuck. Heads up, Giroux is on his way over here.”

“Why are you telling us to get our heads up? You’re the one whose skull he smashed.”

Toews’ face turned even more sour, and then Giroux blasted right past Tyler and came to a halt in the exact centre of their little huddle.

“Hello, hello, hello,” Claude muttered, shaking everyone’s hands with the bare minimum of civility. Two guys meandered into view behind him: one lanky and insolent, the other short and snarly. They didn’t shake anyone’s hand.

“Hello Claude. How are you doing?” Johnny asked, in a tone that suggested they were about to get a tidal wave of complaints unleashed upon them.

“Seriously, does this not feel like fucking deja-vu to anyone else?” His French Canadian-cum-Philadelphia accent blasted through the muted quiet of the crowd. “We’ve been here before, right? I’m not going mad? Except that time the guy survived.”

Tyler really didn’t mind about being talked about like he wasn’t there. The longer Claude wasn’t speaking directly to him, the better. It didn’t last long though.

“I heard you think a dead guy did all this?”

The others in the group turned to look at Tyler.

“Vincent Trocheck.”

“Yeah, I know who you mean, Claude.”

“You said that the last time this happened. What, you seeing dead people now?”

“Voracek saw him too. That night we came to you guys in Pittsburgh, and Johnny here trashed your bar, he told Patrice and I that he saw Trocheck outside a warehouse in Philly.”

Claude was silent for an unnerving stretch of time, his eyes roaming from Tyler tip to toe. It wasn’t anything that Tyler hadn’t faced before, he’d done plenty of meetings with Claude in his Boston days. The key was to make sure you didn’t visibly break out into a sweat. He didn’t fail to notice Claude’s two new bodyguards exchange a look. 

“Voracek has huffed a lot of glue in his time,” Claude said eventually, still inspecting Tyler like a specimen.

“You trust him more than most of your Family put together. Why not now?”

They were interrupted by a shift in the crowd as those up front were beckoned inside the church.

“OK,” Claude said, his tone neither agreement nor argument with what Tyler had just said. “Let’s go do a funeral and then maybe we can finally decide what to do about these guys.”

He stalked off in the direction of the doors, Short and Tall trailing after him.

“He really is a character that one,” Tyson said as they made their own way inside. Jamie slipped a hand to the small of Tyler’s back.

“You OK?” he asked gently, masking his words in a soft kiss to Tyler’s hair.

“I’m fine. But Claude’s right. This is our best chance to speak to everyone after this. About Trocheck, and what I got from Kucherov.”

“Anything else you remember?” Jamie asked, nodding his head to the priest at the door as they passed.

“Bits and pieces.” Tyler wasn’t totally confident he wanted to stand up in front of a room of Family guys and talk about them, but maybe all together this could be enough to get the slow-moving, suspicious network to believe what he claimed.

Colorado and Dallas stuck together in the pews. Tyler had Jordie and Jamie either side of him, and beyond them Tyson and Nate. Gabe, Klingberg and Janmark were up at the front in the tangled mix of Family Swedes who’d known the Kempe brothers.

Tyler caught sight of Boston two pews ahead of him - first Tuukka and Patrice, standing stock still as the other guys shuffled around them trying to fit their shoulders into the line up. He spotted Ference next, on the other side of Patrice, and a guy Tyler recognised as the up and coming David Pastrnak. He wanted to introduce himself later to the kid, he liked the sound of him.

Brad suddenly appeared at Tyler’s shoulder, leaning over Jordie in the aisle seat like he wasn’t even there.

“I need to talk to you later.”

“Er, sure. You OK?”

“Yeah,” Brad said distractedly. “Just promise after this, we’ll talk?”

“Sure.”

Brad was gone to the Pittsburgh pew, for some reason, before Tyler could ask anything else.

“He looks wound up,” Jordie noted. Tyler was too busy watching the back of Patrice’s head. If Brad was wound up, it usually meant something was wrong with Patrice.

Bergeron must have felt eyes on him because he turned, and his expression caught Tyler unawares. He looked…sick. Stricken. He met Tyler’s gaze and he did his best to offer a polite smile instead. Tyler did the same back.

Tyler let out a long breath.

“You OK?” Jamie asked. He definitely hadn’t missed that exchange.

“Yep,” Tyler said, popping the p. He wasn’t OK, not at all. It was only when he saw Patrice’s expression that he realised what his old friends must be thinking. If Tyler hadn’t got lucky, and Florida hadn’t failed last time, they would have had to hold a funeral like this for him.

Someone patted him on his back as the pew behind them filed into place. It was Chris Kreider from New York. It was just a small gesture before he was shuffled down the line to make way for Henrik, who Jamie obliging turned to for a handshake.

Every Family in the network was there, somewhere in the church, except of course for Florida. East coast, west coast, central, even Canada. Connor McDavid was still wanted for too many felonies to risk crossing a border, but Tyler recognised a few of his men in the crowd. Tyler had heard a rumour Montreal was coming, but he wasn’t sure he’d recognise any of their men. He’d have to ask Auston Matthews later. He spotted Matthews at the far back of the church, talking to Jack Eichel from Buffalo.

As Tyler’s eyes roamed the room he caught head-nods and waves from dozens of guys he knew across the network. He spotted the herd of Pittsburgh men midway down the church, Malkin’s height the only thing to distinguish him from the rest of the black suited huddle. Whilst looking around Tyler copped a couple of glares and snarls too - from Nylander and Kapanen, from Zach Parise, from Ryan Kesler with the Anaheim Family. He got a middle finger from Taylor Hall. He just smiled to them all in return.

The congregation fell into a hush as the coffin entered and the church doors closed behind it, blotting out the light. Tyler tried not to look at the pall bearers, unable to look at Mario Kempe’s face as he passed by.

They were almost at the nave when Tyler felt a breeze on the back of his neck. He turned to look down the long line of the church’s side wall. The main doors were still closed, but he could feel it, a needle of cold air on his skin. Kreider looked back at him, waiting for him to say something. Tyler shook his head and turned back to look at the nave, where Adrian’s coffin was being slid into place.

He felt Jamie and Jordie squeeze in around him, and Tyler let himself breathe.

As far as Tyler was aware it was a pretty standard funeral, despite the no doubt secretly armed men in the congregation.

They mumbled through some prayers and some hymns, and then the church stood and Adrian was taken to his final resting place.

“Do we go as well?” Tyler asked underneath the sound of about a hundred people beginning to talk at the same time.

“Biz said we were welcome to. But we don’t have to.”

Jordie stepped out of the pew to let them out. The Pittsburgh group nearly steamrollered him in their desperate push to get out of the church. Tyler caught a flash of Sid’s steely face.

“I guess Klinger and Janmark will. Maybe I should go with them,” Jordie said, levelling a glare at the flank of Pittsburgh men moving down the church aisle.

Tyler wasn’t sure he could face the actual sight of Adrian being lowered into the ground. The temperature in the church had rocketed up since the doors had shut and he was starting to feel the atmosphere rise too. Everyone was tense and ready to leave. And for some reason Tyler’s heart was starting to hammer in his chest.

“I should probably talk to Brad, or he might explode,” he said, jerking a thumb towards where Boston were stuck in their pew by the crowds.

“Ok, let me come with you,” Jamie was saying, clambering out of the pew, but Tyler had turned and crashed into the chest and beard of big Joe ‘Jumbo’ Thornton from San Jose.

“Jesus, sorry Joe.”

“Are you supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain in a church, Seggy?”

The gun shot was more of a crack than a blast. It knifed right through the heart of the crowd, into a silence that went as quickly as it came. 

One second Tyler was upright, the next he was pushed down onto the flagstone floor against a pew. And Thornton was over him, forcing him down, his face turned away, his big hands on Tyler’s chest. And then he was gone. Replaced by Jamie, Jamie swearing, looking over his shoulder in the same direction Thornton had been.

A roar of noise and people flowed down the aisle, moving away from the gunshot like ripples from a blast zone. 

“Come on Tyler, Tyler, get up,” Tyler’s brain finally cleared enough to hear. Jordie was braced in front of Jamie, watching his back as Jamie hauled Tyler to his feet.

“Go. Go.”

Tyler turned to run to the back of the church with dozens of others. One person ran in the other direction. Tuukka Rask, moving through the crowd like a hot knife through butter.

It was bad. If a man with military medical history like Tuukka ran towards the noise, you knew it was bad.

Tyler looked over his shoulder as he moved. The epicentre of the gunshot had split into two. One, a violent whirling of limbs - shouting, hissing, grunts of a fight. The other, frantic gasps of movement within deathly silence - except for a moaning, a roaring. Like a wounded animal.

Dallas were at the door, Faksa pushing them from behind and Oleksiak shielding up front, before Tyler put everything together.

Pittsburgh rushing to the doors of the church. The shot from the back pews. The wail of deep, unimaginable pain. Evgeni Malki’s pain.

Sid. Sidney Crosby had been shot.

“Tyler, no.”

“Fuck, we have to go back.”

“Tyler, get in the car.”

“It’s Sid! Shit, it’s Sid, I can’t…we can’t, fuck, we have to go back.”

And then Brad was there, grabbing his arm and pushing him back too. “We can’t do anything Tyler. Tuukka’s with him, just go.”

Jordie took his chance to bundle his brother and Tyler into the back of the car that Dobby had ready to go. The man was worth his weight in gold for his supernatural ability to read what was coming towards his Family.

“We need to get out before the police come,” Jordie said, calm as he could manage. Radulov wasn’t with them.

“Leave him,” Dobby said, when Jamie pointed it out, gunning the engine. “We go to Kopitar’s.”

It was where the wake was meant to be. And it felt in that moment, attacked in a foreign city, the best place for the visiting Families to flee.


	30. Chapter 30

The journey was just hoarse shouting and cell phones bleating. Tyler didn’t make out a word of it. They arrived in a screech of tyres at the Kopitar home at the same time as half of the other Families.

“What the fuck was that?!” Claude Giroux howled with anger. He had blood on his shirt, a dark and deep stain. He had to have been close to what happened. Simmons prowled along behind Giroux, watching him but not inhibiting his whirls of rage.

Henrik Lundqvist was furiously rubbing at his forehead, angrily monologuing to Chris Kreider who nodded along, gasping like a drowning man. Jonathan Toews was yelling obscenities at Toronto, for some reason. In response Auston looked a little stunned, like he’d been hit on the head. Mitch Marner was beside him, pale as a ghost and unnaturally still. Other Families were quiet and kept to themselves, fearful to be noticed.

Kopitar’s family had arrived before them and his wife, in that implacable way of a woman married to chaos, opened up the big front doors and raised her voice above the din.

“Come inside, all of you. Before you do something stupid.”

The collective rabble of shocked Family men did as they were told.

Inside, the caterers were working hard to get food ready they thought they had another hour to prepare.

Tyler found himself with Jamie and Jordie in the family room, holding a vodka orangethat Jordie had procured for him. He knocked it back in one and Jordie swapped the empty glass for his own.

“What the hell even happened?”

Across the room in the hallway stragglers arrived looking the same mixture of confused and angry as everyone else. Jordie had been doing the rounds, trying to find out what he could. Tyler knew that was supposed to be his job but for the moment he felt too shocked to move.

“A guy no-one recognised took his gun out and just shot Sid. Pretty much point blank.”

“Where?”

“His head.”

Jamie let out a long breath and took a swig of his drink.

“Is he alive?”

“No-one knows. Subban said he saw Tuukka and someone else working on him, and then he had to leave. The police showed up, but Kopitar sent them away.”

Tyler looked down at his glass and realised the liquid inside was trembling. His hands were shaking. He used his free hand to slip around Jamie’s forearm and squeeze.

“Have you heard from Tyson?”

“He just texted, asking if we were here,” Jamie said, flipping his phone out of his suit pocket. Someone started yelling in the other room, but no-one turned their head to it.

“I imagine Nate’s gone with Pittsburgh.”

“Are any of them here?”

“None. They’ve all gone to the hospital.”

“What about the guy who did it?”

Jordie shook his head. Tyler wasn’t surprised. There was a reason Kopitar hadn’t wanted questions from the police about where the culprit for the shooting had got to.

Boston arrived looking breathless and worn out. Everyone turned to watch them wander around, trying to find somewhere to land. Tyler snagged Brad and pulled him into their corner. Patrice, who’d been following behind, slowed and finally stopped nearby, though not bunched up with the rest.

“Is Sid going to be ok?” Tyler asked, hand gripping Brad’s arm. Brad’s tie was loose and his top button undone.

“He wouldn’t have been alive when the ambulance got there if it weren’t for the guys that helped him. Tuukka’s army experience saved his life. Gunshot to the head was pretty run of the mill for him back in the day.”

“So he was alive when he got in the ambulance?”

“Yeah. Just. He’s at the hospital now, and so far no-one’s heard anything else.”

“Is Geno with him?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know.”

They drank their drinks in tense silence for a while longer. Patrice disappeared. By the time Tyson arrived, Tyler was well and truly on his way to drunk.

“What happened?” Jamie asked, herding Tyson away from the rest. The others didn’t react, too busy staring at their phones, so Tyler tagged along.

“I don’t know much. I pretty much chased Nate to the hospital, he went with some guys from Pittsburgh but I had to find Gabe first. Nate was standing next to Sid when it happened. He was…fucking _covered _in blood.”

“Is Sid going to make it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I caught up with Nate at the parking lot in the hospital. They’d all tried to get in there to a waiting room, but they blocked everyone except Geno. They must have quickly realised he couldn’t handle it on his own, so they let Letang in. But he was alive when they got the hospital, Flower found that out. So that’s something I guess.”

Jamie looked thoroughly pale and nauseous. “Fuck, if he dies... I don’t know what’ll happen to Pittsburgh, what will happen to the east coast.”

“If this starts a war with Florida, and I’m pretty fucking sure it will do, then we’re all screwed. What the hell were they thinking? At a funeral of another guy they killed and they try to kill Sid? Point blank. Jesus.”

Tyler went to find them all water, because Tyson was starting to go a sickly green as well. The staff had evacuated the kitchen to lay the trays of food that no-one was going to touch onto trestle tables. Still, Tyler didn’t notice Patrice until he was halfway through filling glasses from the unit in the refrigerator.

“You OK?”

“Jesus,” Tyler hissed, dropping the glass he was holding.

A caterer appeared, blinking disapprovingly at the smashed glass and then at Tyler. Tyler took a step back and let the man fuss around cleaning it up. “Sorry,” Tyler mumbled at him, clearing out of the way completely. Patrice was standing by a small glass-plated door that led out onto a patio area around the side of the house. Tyler wasn’t sure where Kopitar’s wife and children were, but out there was just a covered barbecue and some expensive outdoor furniture where a couple of dogs slept soundly.

“You heard anything?” Tyler asked Patrice eventually.

“Tuukka just called me.”

“And?”

“He told me Sid got to the hospital alive, which was one miracle, but he needs another one just to survive the night. And a third to be alive at the end of the week. You know what Tuukka is like.”

“What, honest? Yeah, I know what he’s like.” Tyler rubbed at his head. The shock had faded away to a chest-aching sadness. “Fuck, poor Sid.”

And he meant it. He’d respected Sidney Crosby for years, even before he made it as head of the Pittsburgh Family. And once Tyler began to work at the higher levels with Boston, he’d got to like the guy. He did his job with a singular focus that bordered on the intense, but it was all for the good of his Family. There was no Family in the network with as consistently good bank balance and expansion as Pittsburgh under Sidney Crosby. But he wasn’t aggressive, he wasn’t out to make enemies, and he was undoubtedly a lot smarter than many gave him credit for. He spoke to Tyler like a human being, even back in the days when Tyler was there just to be meat in the room for a summit.

He and Malkin ran their Family just like that - a family.

“Is Tuukka coming here?”

“I sent him home. I don’t know how he deals with this sort of thing, but there’s no need for him to be stuck here. We’re all flying back tonight and then I’m putting the Family on lockdown. I’m not going anywhere or sending anyone to travel until we sort this Florida thing out.”

Tyler imagined Jamie was thinking the exact same thing.

“How exactly are we going to sort it out?”

Patrice didn’t have an answer.

“I went to New York to talk to Kucherov.”

Patrice arched an eyebrow. “What did he say?”

“You don’t want to ask why I went, or why it was New York, or why he was out and about outside of Florida?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons and they were all right, as usual, Tyler.”

Tyler couldn’t help a small smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing out right. He was there with Barkov. I was sure that Trocheck wasn’t dead before, and I’m even more sure now. He didn’t like me insulting Trocheck’s attitude to Family politics, and he was halfway through a rant about what Florida were going to do to us all when Barkov jumped in.”

“We have to wait until we know what’s going on with Sid. Only then we can make a move. This needs a coordinated effort.”

Tyler couldn’t help a deep frown, disbelief mixed with surprise.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I just spoke to Kopitar, Philadelphia and Washington, most of Canada too. Brad’s talking to Nashville and a few others now. Everyone is to stay out of it until we know if Sid is going to make it.”

“What the hell, why? And don’t tell me it’s the fucking ‘done thing’, OK, I had enough of that whilst I was in Boston.”

“What can I say, Tyler. If one of us goes charging into Florida for revenge then the rest have to follow, and that’s not going to be appreciated. And if Sid dies, what then?” Tyler saw a flicker of pain in his former boss’s face at that idea. “Pittsburgh would be vulnerable. If we opened a war with Florida then they would not be able to help us and we could fail.”

“Open up a war? Patrice, the war has fucking started. They killed a guy from Los Angeles, they sent someone into that man’s funeral and shot one of the Family Captains in the fucking head. That’s…Jesus if that’s not war then I don’t know what it is.”

“We’ve decided, OK?”

“We? Whose we? What, the east coast again?”

“Everyone agrees Tyler. Don’t try to stir Dallas up into doing something stupid, promise me,” Patrice said, his voice a hiss as the staff filed back into the kitchen.

Tyler didn’t know what else to say. He used to know how to talk Patrice out of something, how to at least get him to see Tyler’s argument. But it was different now.

“Patrice, this is a mistake.”

Patrice didn’t have anything to say to that. He pushed away from the wall and began to leave.

“Patrice, wait.”

“What?”

“Please be careful.”

“I will, Tyler. We all will.”

“Nate told me before the funeral that Sid was sent that recording of Kempe. Not Geno. Sid. Boston received one too didn’t you? And Washington, and Philadelphia, and a lot of other Families. But not all of them. Florida gave us a very clear warning, Patrice, and they’re acting on it. We need to move before they do.”

“I know. But what can we do? It needs to be all of us none of us. Right now, you’re going to lose that vote. Give it a while. We’ll work out what to do.”

Tyler finished his intended task of fetching them all waters and found Jamie and Tyson where he’d left them. The rest of Dallas and Colorado were scattered in amongst the other Families. Auston tried to grab Tyler’s attention, but he ignored him. He knew what Auston was going to say - this is bullshit, we need to act now, we’re sitting ducks. But Dallas and Toronto weren’t high up enough on the pecking order. And Tyler wasn’t in the mood for a fruitless argument with the men that were, who wouldn’t want to listen to a word he said.

Speaking of men further up the food chain, Claude Giroux all but staggered into their little corner. He had opened up his shirt but the blood stain on the white fabric was still alarmingly visible. It had leaked through to his skin, so that for a horrifying moment it looked as though he had been shot too and was slowly bleeding out. He didn’t seem to care about the reaction he got.

“I’d head home if I were you boys. Kopitar is going to start kicking us out soon.”

“You going back to Philadelphia?”

“First fucking flight I can get. I’m not staying here a minute longer. Shit, Crosby…” There was something there, a stuttering moment of some deeper emotion other than anger on Claude’s face, and then it corrected itself.

“Look after yourselves.” He eventually finished with, and turned around to deliver the same ominous goodbyes to the others in the room.

“Is he shit faced or in shock?” Jordie asked, watching him go. Simmonds was - as always - a few steps behind Giroux, herding him towards the door.

“Well he’s got blood all over him. He must have been standing right there when it happened.”

“He wasn’t,” Tyson said quietly, watching Claude too. “Not that close. But when it happened he went right to Sid.”

They watched Simmonds catch Claude’s forearm as he’d finished talking to Nashville and this time he physically steered his boss towards the exit.

“He tried to help them stop the bleeding. Say what you want about the guy, but no matter how much he hates Sid, he did what he could.”


	31. Chapter 31

Tyler got very quickly and very deeply drunk on the plane back from Los Angeles. Jamie didn’t stop him, and Jordie greatly disproved, but was quietly told to shut up. So he decided to not say anything, about anything, for the rest of the trip. They piled into Jordie’s SUV at the airport and he drove them in silence. He parked up at the Benn house and exited the car with his bag and without a word. He left Jamie to manhandle a sleeping Tyler out of the truck and into the house on his own. Jamie knew that the action was a starting pistol to the fight that was about to rupture between them. It had been building for days, and Jordie was at his most furious when he couldn’t help the people around him in the way he saw fit.

He couldn’t stop Tyler breaking himself down into little pieces. He couldn’t help Jamie make a family decision he’d needed to make for months.

So he stormed off to bed, and left Jamie with Tyler drunk and groaning on the couch.

Jamie didn’t know what to do with him. He ran his hand sadly through Tyler’s hair where his head rested on Jamie’s thigh. He’d thought on the plane at least Tyler asleep would be a Tyler unable to think too much. But it hadn’t been a good idea. His older brother was right, once again.

“Screw Florida,” Tyler said wetly into Jamie’s thigh.

“Yeah, screw Florida,” Jamie sighed.

“Trying to kill Sid.”

Sid was still alive, Tyson’s latest text had told Jamie when they had landed. Nate had muscled his way into the waiting room too. It was up to Ovechkin and Letang to keep Geno together, so Nate had nothing to do but wait and talk to Tyson on the phone.

_He’s hanging in there _was how Tyson had phrased it. Jamie wasn’t sure that sounded too positive.

“He could make it,” Jamie said gently, still stroking Tyler’s hair.

Jamie came around two hours later with a crick in his neck and his mouth wide open. He felt stupidly awake, and uncomfortable. Tyler was still on his lap, but not asleep.

“You were snoring,” Tyler supplied.

“Sorry.”

Tyler sat up and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s OK. I’m sorry I got drunk.” He dropped his head into Jamie’s neck and nuzzled him there. “I have sobered up I promised.”

“Hm, really?”

“Enough.”

Tyler peeled himself off Jamie’s chest and propped himself up against the back of the couch, as if to prove his sobriety. Jamie reeled him back in.

“Jordie’s pissed at me,” Tyler said on a sigh into Jamie’s ear.

“No he’s not. He’s pissed at me. He’s just frustrated with you.”

“Am I frustrating?”

“Always,” Jamie smirked. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“No,” Tyler full on whined, digging his fingers into Jamie’s thigh. “No, I don’t want to sleep. Not yet. I don’t…want to know what I’m going to dream. Come on, let’s stay up a bit. Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About anything. Literally anything.”

“OK,” Jamie said, rubbing at his chin. The house was silent around them, except for the snuffles of dog snores. Marshall was being loyal and sticking to his Dad’s side. Juice was doing the same upstairs in Jordie’s firmly sealed bedroom. The kitchen tap was dripping somewhere behind them. There’d been a light on in the pool house, where whoever was on security would stay when he wasn’t wandering the property, but it was switched off now. Either Janmark was taking an illicit nap or he was being energy conscious whilst checking the perimeter.

“How about…” Jamie started, figuring that this was a good as time as any. “We talk about what you know about me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows that Tyler Seguin collects everyone else’s secrets. I know a few of yours. What do you know about me?”

Tyler ran a thumb over the underside of Jamie’s forearm, where his _brothers _tattoo sat on his skin.

“I know you’re from Victoria. I know you have a sister. I know you took over Dallas pretty young, and it was a surprise. To you and everyone else.”

“That doesn’t sound like the kind of dirt I’ve heard you dig up about others.”

Tyler shrugged. “You’re an enigma, Jamie Benn. I tried plugging Tyson for information but he was unnaturally quiet. I guess he has all of your dirt.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jamie said. “Tyson knows something about me, and Jordie, that no-one else does.”

“No-one?” Tyler asked into Jamie’s collarbone. He didn’t dare move. It felt like a fragile shell rested over Jamie, in the dark and quiet.

“No-one. Because he was there when it happened. It’s why my sister and I don’t really talk, the reason I ended up moving down here to be with Jordie in Dallas.”

“About your family?”

“Yeah.”

“OK. Tell me,” Tyler said gently.

Jamie took a moment before he started.

“I mean, we were pretty normal. We met Tyson and his sister at school. Even though we were younger than Jordie, he didn’t mind us hanging out with him and his friends. Jenny is quite a bit older than Jordie, so we didn’t really hang out as kids. But she was always around, my parents liked us spending a lot of time together as a family. My Dad had a job at a law firm and Mum was a school teacher. It wasn’t exactly glamorous but we did OK. But us kids didn’t know that we were in huge debt. My Dad was taking on stupid loans and credit cards trying to keep up with things, and it got worse and worse every year. They got more debt to pay off other debt and it never stopped. I guess they both stopped seeing a way out. I don’t know why they didn’t ask for help or tell someone, but they didn’t.

One night in June I woke up randomly in the middle of the night. I was twelve, so Jordie was like fourteen and Jenny was eighteen. It was getting humid and I think it’d woken me up. I'd been awake for a bit and then I heard, like, a bang. I thought it was from Jordie’s room. I didn’t know what it was but I knew I hadn’t heard the sound before. I went into his room and he was asleep, I thought. I was standing at his bed about to wake him up when I heard this…glugging sound, out in the corridor. Like someone pouring water out of a bottle.

What I’d heard, was my Dad going into Jordie’s room and shooting him in his bed. When I went in there, I didn’t see the blood all over the blankets. Dad had then gone to Jenny’s room, but she had snuck out that night to see her boyfriend. Dad came to my room next, and I wasn’t there either. I was standing at Jordie’s bed trying to get him to wake up. The liquid noise was my Dad deciding he just had to carry on with his plan. He was pouring gasoline all over the floor. Eventually I put my hand down on the bed and realised there was something wrong. There was…blood, everywhere. My eyes had adjusted to the dark. I knew Jordie wasn’t right. I don’t know why I didn’t call out for Mum or Dad straight away. I don’t remember a whole lot of what I was thinking. I think I was so in shock I was frozen. And then there were the other noises in the house, all this sudden crackling. It was the fire spreading. And smoke started coming through the door. I ran into the hallway, and it was just a wall of flames. I started yelling for Mum and Dad then. Thinking…I don’t know, someone had thrown a bomb into our house. Or maybe some electrical thing had exploded. I couldn’t even begin to understand what had happened to Jordie. I think my brain just went blank.

I couldn’t get into my parent’s room, it was locked. I checked on Jenny, she wasn’t there. So I went back to Jordie’s room, and I dragged him out of his bed and down the stairs. He came round at one point, but he must have been in shock, because he didn’t know what was going on, how to get himself up. So I just kept dragging him until we got out the front door. I got him all the way out onto the front yard and just started screaming and screaming. Our neighbours rushed out. They tried to ask me where Jenny was, where my parents were, because it was pretty clear the house was on fire. They tried to find out what had happened, but I just kept begging them to help Jordie. They were, but…I guess that was the only thing my brain could worry about right then.

The fire department went in. They found my Dad, dead. Shot in the head. And my Mum was there, unconscious but no gunshot. They got her out, and to the hospital, Jordie was already on the way. Someone had called Jenny. We just stood in the street. We didn’t know what to do. I don’t remember a lot of that week really except that we lived with the Barrie’s. Jenny split her time between Mum’s bedside and Jordie’s. She didn’t let me see Mum, which I guess was a good idea. Mum had smoke inhalation, Jordie recovered really well, in fact they were discharged basically the same day. We didn’t realise it at the time, but Mum was under arrest whilst she was recovering. They’d worked it out. Her and my Dad had planned a murder suicide. My Dad was going to do it all. But Jenny was out of bed, and then by the time he got into my room so was I. We don’t know what the agreement between my parents was. Whether they were to shoot each other, or shoot themselves at the same time. Whatever it was, my Mum couldn’t do it."

Tyler didn’t say anything for a long time. He tried to stay warm and still in Jamie’s arms. Tried his best not to let the cold leech through his fingers into where his boyfriend was tightly wrapped around him. Tried not to let the tremble be felt. He didn’t think Jamie needed him to say anything, because what was there to say? Sorry didn’t cover it.

All Tyler could picture was a twelve year old Jamie, dragging Jordie over grass, screaming for help. It came to him like a photograph, even though he’d only seen that one image of Jamie as a kid. The one he had of his family in the little room off the kitchen where he made his coffee, in a black frame on a shelf by the coffee machine. Jamie probably only eight or nine, infused with the happiness of a kid on holiday, caught yelling or yawning or trying to squint the sun out of his eyes. Jordie on his way to teenage-dom, not self-conscious about the teetering edge of puberty he was coming towards, his arm confidently thrown over his Dad’s shoulders like he demonstrating all the ways he was going to become just like his old man. Their father, solid and unassuming, leaning around to tell them all to stay still, or be quiet - just one photo guys - mirth in the tan lines around his eyes. Jenny, popping her hip with a halo of sunlight over her hair. And their Mom smiling, in that way Mom’s did, when no amount of tiredness could pierce that insistent contentedness with the antics of their kids.

That lone photo he’d seen was the antithesis of everything he was now imagining, but imagine it he did. Jamie would have been a few years older, heavier, taller, just strong enough to drag his older brother down a hallway, down stairs, out of their front. Or maybe he'd just been frightened enough. And Jordie would have been lankier, broader, and barely alive.

"In the end, she wasn’t charged with attempted murder. They figured out that my Dad had shot himself, so they couldn’t charge her with his murder. Only my Dad’s fingerprints were on the gun that shot Jordie, only his fingerprints were on the bottle of gasoline. But she helped him plan it. They know that. They’d written it all out, on my Dad’s computer. It was automatically saved into his backup, and they were able to retrieve it.

She did eight years in the end, but I can't even remember what she was finally charged with. She wrote a letter to us all after her sentencing, saying that Dad had convinced her. That it was Dad’s debt, Dad’s bad decisions, Dad’s idea, Dad forced her. Jenny’s always believed her. I don’t think she’s forgiven her, exactly, but I think she believes my Mum was put in a terrible situation and manipulated by our Dad. Jordie…I don’t know what Jordie thinks. We don’t talk about it.”

Tyler thought about his sisters, all the things that they never talked about: their Dad's death, Mom's boyfriends, Tyler's juvie visits and then his flight to Toronto and beyond with the Family network. 

“Go on then,” Jamie said, his voice suddenly rougher than it had been before. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“What they all asked me.”

Tyler looked up, his nose brushing against Jamie’s chin. He couldn’t make out Jamie’s eyes at this angle but he felt the tension leaking back into him that the re-telling had seemed to flush out.

“I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.”

And at that, in a second, Jamie relaxed again. And squeezed Tyler tighter.

“So when you disappear in the middle of the night, and you’re in Jordie’s bed…”

“I have a dream and I guess need to remember he’s still there and OK. In the middle of the night.”

Tyler breathed out a little. “Yeah. Makes sense. How does Jordie deal with it? He was shot at fourteen, by his Dad. That’s a lot to go through.”

“I don’t know. Like I said, we don’t really talk about it. He’s said a few times that he doesn’t remember any of that night. I think he’d rather I didn’t remember it.”

“So why are the two of you arguing now?”

“Mum is turning sixty. I think Jenny wants us to go up there to celebrate with her.”

“And you don’t want to go?”

“I wish Mum would just say she would like us to come. Then I can say yes or no, I know how I’d feel. But it’s Jenny setting it up. She keeps sending me messages, trying to lobby for Mum to have her children there on her birthday. I can’t…I can’t say no to why Jenny wants us to go. But that doesn’t mean I want to go.”

“What about Jordie?”

“Jordie is a middle child,” Jamie said with resigned amusement. “He doesn’t get involved until he can see where the argument is going. He wants me to just talk to Jenny, but I know she’d convince me. And then I’d end up going back to Canada, going back to BC, just to make Jenny happy. But when I turn up at her house it won’t be to meet her, it’ll be to meet Mum.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Jenny’s wedding. Jenny apparently told all her close friends what had happened, she’s nothing if not honest, and you should have seen the bridesmaids. Just standing there, staring at this woman they knew had tried to kill their friend and her family, but she was there as mother of the bride, they didn’t know what the hell to do with themselves. No-one did.”

Tyler shifted a little, leaning his head back so he could look Jamie in the eye. His eyes weren’t red, they weren’t wet, but they looked tired.

“So what happened to you, when your Mum went to jail?”

“We went to live with Tyson’s family full time. Jenny had custody of us, but she couldn’t exactly support us on her own, and Tyson’s parents offered. They had a small house at the bottom of the garden that Tyson’s sister always used for parties, and it was meant to be there so they could look after their parents one day when they got too old to live on their own. And we moved in there. Jenny deferred on her college entry, gave it a year and then went to Calgary to get her degree. Jordie and I stayed in Victoria in their little house at the end of the garden. Tyson’s Dad ran a business and it went bankrupt when Tyson and I were in our last year of high school, and shortly after so did he. By that point Jordie was living and working down here in Texas, I thought as a construction worker but clearly not. Jenny was getting her masters. So I thought it was time I stopped living with the Barries and I came down here to live with Jordie.”

“Man,” Tyler laughed, “So you’re not even _friends _with Tyson, you’re like…live in brothers.”

Jamie chuckled. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Geez. I really need to hear some stories, you know. I’m effectively his new boss. I need as much collateral as you can give me.”

“I’ve got plenty of that.”

They were silent again for a long time, Jamie seemingly lost in his thoughts and Tyler thinking of twelve year old Jamie, at sea in the very adult world his parents’ monumental decisions had created.

“Jordie always told me,” Jamie said out of the blue. “That the reason I never chose to be with anyone long term was because I thought every relationship would end up badly.”

“He meant like your parents?”

“I don’t think he believed I actually thought that if I got together with someone we’d end up making a murder suicide pact. But I guess he thought that since I saw Mum and Dad’s seemingly perfectly relationship turn into…into what it did, with no warning or build up…that I would always be afraid things would end badly.”

“Well, is he right?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie said, shrugging as best as he could. “All I know is that you didn’t make me tell you anything about my life.” He lifted his hand and pulled on Tyler’s ear with a smirk. “You either found it out or you just expected me to tell you.”

“Well yeah. That's how you find out the best information about people. You hear it from others. And you wait for them to tell you. My Dad taught me that. Information told to you because someone has demanded it is hardly ever truthful. People tell you the truth when they want to, and not a second before. I knew whatever you wanted to tell me, whenever that might be, is always going to be the truth because I’ve never demanded you tell me your life story. I know what I know. And I’ll find out the rest along the way.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said after a long moment. “I get that.”

And that, Tyler thought, tucking his head under Jamie’s chin, was why this felt so simple. They knew what they knew about one another. And everything else, no matter what shit that might be, would come up when it needed to.

“Except for the secrets that could get each other killed,” Tyler said, repeating Jamie’s words from the nightclub in New York back to him.

“Exactly,” Jamie said into Tyler’s hair. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning - this one is pretty violent. There's more gun violence in this than pretty much in the whole rest of the fic. I don't believe there's anything gratuitous, but I'm saying it as a warning anyway.

Jonathan Toews yawned into his hand.

“You tired, Tazer?” asked Crawford from the driver’s seat. In the backseat Seabrook was staring out of the window and Sharpy was on the phone. In the car behind Kane was driving with DeBrincat no doubt yammering in his ear about the steak place they were going to tonight. The best in Buffalo, apparently.

“Didn’t sleep last night,” Johnny admitted. He tried to rub some life into his face, hoping his exhaustion wasn’t obvious.

“You anxious about this?”

“No, nothing like that. Come on, this is Buffalo.”

Buffalo was easy. Eichel was young and fresh, but good at his job. He understood that they needed to keep Chicago friendly if they were going to diversify beyond their border trades with Toronto. It was Eichel’s job to suck up to Chicago and get the rest of Buffalo to fall in line. He’d been licking Toews’ shoes over the phone for some time, and now was a chance to please in person. 

Toews respected what Jack had done in that city, but the timing of this meeting was a ball-ache. His head still rang with the sound of that gunshot. He could still feel the punch to his chest as Seabrook had pushed him back and away from the chaos.

He’d had to field phone calls of varying levels of frustration for days since Sid’s attack. The last news he got from Pittsburgh was that there was no news, which he’d been told was a good sign. But the state of Sidney Crosby and the debate about Florida was keeping him up at night.

“True. Ten minutes and we’re there, according to the sat nav. They picked a nice hotel for the meeting.”

That was one thing that Jonathan was looking forward to. He’d been to this particular hotel in Buffalo before, and he knew they did a good coffee. Maybe it would shift some of the exhaustion. Sharp hung up on his call and tapped the phone against Johnny’s shoulder.

“Koivu wants you to call him.”

“After this.”

Sharp retreated the phone.

Valet service was empty when Crawford swung the car in front of the hotel. The street was also cleared out of parked cars and pedestrians. Only the mid afternoon hum of passing traffic saw the two black SUVs pull up outside the hotel.

“Stay with the car,” Sharp instructed Crawford, who lounged back in his seat with a nod.

Waiting just beyond the valet area at the foot of the hotel stairs stood Jack Eichel and Kyle Okposo. Jeff Skinner hung around in the back with a few Buffalo foot soldiers Jonathan never bothered to remember. They all looked relaxed, even the two guys up front, ready to welcome their important guests.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Johnny said as he released his belt and unfolded himself from the car. He was vaguely aware of Kane stepping down from the car behind him, leaving DeBrincat to crawl across the centre console to get into the driver’s side. Sharp fell into step behind him, Keith and Seabrook bringing up the rear.

“Johnny,” Jack Eichel said, spreading his arms out wide. “Welcome to Buffalo.”

They shook hands, a cruel wind needling at their hair.

“Long trip?”

Toews wondered if that was a jab at the bags under his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, as breezily as he could manage. He wasn’t going to get wound up by some jumpy upstart he could crush with his thumb. He shook Okposo’s hand, the American squeezing tightly enough to imply he had thoughts of crushing on his mind as well.

“Come on in, let’s get this started.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure who shouted first, but his feet reacted before his brain could catch up. He took a step back as he spun toward the noise. A body hit him on his right, something slashing through the air next to him. He heard a howl, and then he hit the pavement with someone wrapped around him. A hot pain lanced through his shoulder. He lashed out, catching the assailant with his fist. The guy’s head smacked back against the curb and he went still. Someone, Seabrook, dragged Toews upright and pushed him back towards the car, yelling.

“Go, Johnny, go!”

Toews couldn’t move. All around him his men were being attacked, the flash of knives big enough to kill a bear making no noise as they cleaved at the Chicago group. Two gunshots rang out and a body fell at his feet, but it wasn’t enough. Another attacker got him with a slash across his side, sending him down onto one knee. Kane hollered something vicious, and there was a screech of tyres followed by car doors slamming. More gunshots peppered the air.

“Fuck, protect Johnny!”

“Corey, the car!”

“Jack!”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs towards them as Buffalo’s men poured out of the hotel. One more gunshot snapped to his right as he held the forearm of another attacker at bay. The guy was strong, his eyes blown and focused solely on him.

Johnny didn’t recognise him. He always thought he’d recognise a person who tried to kill him.

Johnny pushed backward with all his might, but his shoulder was singing and his fingers were slippery. Blood. The guy pulled back an arm and too late Johnny realised he was out of options. He lashed out, arms flashing with pain as the knife came down again and again. He felt the blade tip kiss the side of his neck, hot and cold all at once, just as his heel caught on the scrunched up carpet of the valet parking area. It sent him flying backwards onto the pavement. He fell with a crack onto his back as Seabrook got his arms around the guy’s throat, twisting violently backwards. Everything slowed down as Johnny stared down at his arms. He watched the blood gush out of him, his vision tunnelling to a blackened pinpoint. Sharp threw himself down over Johnny, his gun drawn. Patrick’s hand pressed hotly against Johnny’s chest, firm and steady despite the pure anger in his voice as he shouted instructions.

A rushing filled Johnny’s head, drowning out everything except Eichel, whose voice wailed like a car alarm above them all.

_It wasn’t us. It wasn’t us. It wasn’t us. It wasn’t us. _

* * *

Claude crawled to the double doors of his office. His hands grabbed the handle so tight the metal bit him almost to the bone. He yanked feverishly - a door he’d pushed his whole life but now he was trying to pull. His shoulder jerked involuntarily against the wood and it swung open sharply for him. He hit the floor on his knees. It felt like the blood was draining out of his body from his head to his toes. He was shaking, but he didn’t feel cold. Just a burning in his throat, in his chest, down his nose.

His legs lost all feeling and he crumpled sideways to the floor. He didn’t feel the impact. Something was spilling out of his mouth, hot and foamy. He threw his head back to try to get away from it and his eyes found Wayne Simmonds. They were forced open wide, unblinking. Claude knew what a dead man looked like. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He simply let his body shake on the floor and stared at the blank face of his second in command across the carpet.

Travis Konecny burst into the room. A yellow filter blurred Claude’s vision, made TK feel far away even as he ran across the room to him. The younger man - his bodyguard, his loyal friend - threw himself down beside Giroux. Claude could feel him shouting where the vice of his fingers gripped his chest. But he couldn’t hear. His body burned. His eyes slipped closed, and he lost sight of Simmonds. No sight, no smell, no hearing. All he could feel was TK clawing at his chest.

* * *

Brady Skjei waded through the strewn papers and spilled furnishes, the upturned contents of Lundqvist’s home scattered around him. It was oddly, frighteningly quiet. He knew he wasn’t the first in, because Kreider was only in the next apartment and would have reacted to the alarm in minutes. He had to be here, somewhere.

“Kreids?” Skjei called into the empty space. There were no lights on, just the orange wash of the street lights outside. He picked his way carefully across shattered glass and tossed furniture.

Lundqvist would be furious, he thought. He drew a blank on where his boss was that night. Was it the opera, or a tennis match or something? Henrik was always busy attending something with the great and good of New York City.

“Chris?”

Brady moved into the hallway. All doors were closed down its long length, except for the one at the end. It stood propped open, and a soft table lamp spilled buttery light out into the hallway. He moved towards it on instinct. Maybe Kreider was on the phone, mobilising the troops.

Brady pushed the door open with his fingertips, unsure about the silence. The door to Lundqvist’s study swung open and a cacophony of more violence exploded in front of him. The shelves were torn down, glass shattered everywhere, the curtains ripped from their rails.

Blood. 

The street lights blasted through the naked windows. It framed Kreider like the lighting from a low budget horror movie: over exposed, drowning him in sharp shadows. He stood with his back to Brady, staring at something. Skjei took another step forward and glass crunched underfoot. The movement gave him the same line of sight as Kreider.

Lundqvist was sprawled on his armchair facing away from the window. His head lolled back, vacant and bloodied, his neck gaping grotesquely. The rest of him was slashed to ribbons. 

Brady couldn’t move, daren’t. He felt like any ripple might do something else terrible to this room. Kreider turned to look over his shoulder at Brady. His eyes were blown wide, and his mouth slightly parted, but no sound came out.

* * *

Subban didn’t know what everyone was yelling about. He wandered over from where he’d been lounging at the private upstairs bar with Josi, rehashing old nights out and generally enjoying himself. It was a Saturday night and the club was rocking. The Nashville Family were out in force tonight. Even Pekka was there, shooting the shit with Juuse and looking relaxed for the first time in months. PK had been concerned about his friend for a long while. The Finn couldn’t seem to shift whatever it was that was getting him down. And yeah, things were tight at the moment. The balance sheet wasn’t in their favour, and they were getting squeezed out of their typically solid lines. And Subban knew there were very good reasons to be worried about Florida. He’d made many a sombre call to friends in Pittsburgh to extend his condolences and get an update on Sidney Crosby.

But tonight he was happy to see Rinne smile for a change. It was hard not to be in a good mood. It was a typical Nashville night, hot and heavy and thrilling.

Subban had a glass of something cold and strong in his hand, and he was lazily interested in this new shouting. Maybe they were having a VIP in tonight. He’d last heard shrieking like that at a basketball game when Justin Bieber was court side.

He stepped up to the balcony edge that looked over the rest of the club and, well, that was weird. Everyone was pushing to one side. Scrambling over themselves to get to the left. The exit. Subban put his drink down and leant further over the railing. They were running. Why the hell was everyone running?

Just as he tried to answer the question, the music cut. There were a few seconds of just the sound of frantic footsteps and glasses smashing before the fire alarm pierced the silence.

“Jesus.” Subban turned to the VIP seating area. “Guys, we’ve got to go.”

Juuse stood up, hand on his gun.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I can’t smell smoke. But we’d better get out of here.”

Forsberg had his gun out too and gestured for Subban to follow him.

“Stay close.”

Subban wasn’t packing tonight, because this was a night off. This was why he had his guys around him, so he could relax and let someone else take over his physical safety whilst out in public. He swore under his breath as he let himself be herded toward the fire exit for the top floor.

“I bet it’s just some kitchen fire,” he heard someone say, clearly disappointed at having to leave their drink behind. The firearm was ear-piercing, and Subban wished someone would turn it off.

The group headed around the back of the top floor bar and Subban was close enough to see when Johansen went to push the fire door and got nothing.

“The hell?” Subban heard from Juuse to his right. The Finn went up to the door and put his shoulder to it alongside Johansen. The door wouldn’t budge.

“Why is the fire exit locked?”

Subban felt it then. Panic. Surely someone was going to turn the fire alarm off now? If it wasn’t a fire, or at least not a serious one, surely it should have been cut by now.

It was then that the shouting floated up from the club below. He turned back to the balcony and watched as people trampled over one another in an effort to get to the club’s front doors. There were fire exits in the back but Subban had no idea if they were locked too. He could smell the smoke now, thick and acrid floating from beneath him.

No matter how hard they tried, their group couldn’t get the fire door to open. They had no choice but to head down into the throng and try their luck with the front doors like everyone else.

Calm it, Subban told himself. Stay calm, don’t run, don’t let any of his guys panic. He heard a table tip over downstairs and glasses splinter everywhere. It was pandemonium. They reached the bottom of the stairs and were almost immediately carried away by the crowd, like an aggressive current snatching at their legs. And still Subban tried to turn and search the club for Josi. He hadn’t seen his friend since he left him at the bar. Had he gone to the bathroom? There were no fire doors back there in the bowels of the club, where the kitchen staff left boxes of non-perishable foods and millions of straws.

Alongside him Forsberg was trying his best to stay close to his leader. This was the perfect set up for an ambush. Subban ran through a catalogue of enemies in and out of the Families that could want to burn them alive in their own club. Florida was at the top. But the list was too long to start making any concrete accusations.

“Subban!” someone yelled. He tried to turn to them but a woman’s hand lashed out in panic and got him right in the solar plexus. He bent at the waist as he continued to stagger to the door, fighting the tide of the crowd as it tried to bring him to the floor. Don’t fall, don’t fall, he told himself, you’ll never get back up again. The smell of smoke was thicker now, and when Subban looked back up it was suddenly and frighteningly hard to see. Were they near the main doors? They had to be. But then someone was running in the opposite direction, he felt them shoulder past him as they ran the other way. Had he got turned around? Someone else came past in the other direction and Subban doubted himself. He could have turned without knowing it when he was hit in the chest. Where was Forsberg? He didn’t recognise any faces in the crowd.

Why were people going in two different directions? What did they know that he didn’t? The smoke was now thick enough to filter through the bodies around him, filling in the gaps and chinks of light that the open front doors had thrown in. Subban had no idea where he was in the club now.

The fire alarm continued to wail overhead.

Hands suddenly grabbed at Subban’s arm. It was Johansen, pale but solid amongst the smoke.

“This way! PK, this way!”

He was pointing back the way Subban was sure he had come, but PK trusted him. They held onto each other’s arms as they battled through the crowds. Subban hit the lip of the stairs and managed not to fall. He knew they had stairs up to the exits. This must be it, the front door.

Sure enough he soon fell out into the hot Nashville night coughing the smoke out of his lungs, still gripping Ryan tightly.

“Where is everyone?”

“I don’t know, I just came past you going the wrong way.”

Ryan broke off to cough, hands on his knees. Around them it was chaos. People poured onto the street, then drifted to stand just outside the doors and stare. There was blood, hands and knees slashed to ribbons by the floor and glass. There was hollering and names tossed into the air, white phone lights flashing against the orange streetlights. Subban turned to look back at the building and could only gape at the sight of flames - strong, bright, like something out of a movie - clawing out of the back of his club and into the sky. Smoke billowed out from the back portion of the building, leaving a dirty trail as the wind pushed it south.

“Did you see Roman?” asked Subban, still coughing. Ryan shook his head. Subban saw Forsberg battle towards them and his chest loosened a bit.

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know! I heard someone say it was the kitchen but I don’t know.”

The three of them leapt backwards at the crunching, roaring sound coming up from the club. A groan went up through the flames and then an almighty crash. Subban could only stare as he realised that his nightclub was collapsing right in front of him, back end first.

Juuse and Pekka battled their way through the crowd towards them. The first of the ambulances drenched them in blue and red. Pekka couldn’t stop coughing to speak, and Juuse’s face was screwed up in pain, his hands on his side.

“Where is Roman?” Subban asked. Any second now, he thought. Any second someone would say they’d seen him in the crowd. Or he’d appear, coughing and swearing like the other guys. But no-one had an answer.

The fire crews were right behind the ambulances. They stayed back as more of the building folded in on itself, but Subban could see the crews that had gone into the back parking lot had started up the hoses. The voices around him all asked variations of the same thing. How many people were left in there? Who was missing? Did anyone see anyone injured in there? Why didn’t the sprinklers come on?

Subban always thought he’d be loud, in a disaster. That if he thought his friend was missing he would run into fire, holler and resist being restrained, beat his chest at the need to fight the disaster itself.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, the heat white-hot against his skin, his eyes watering as they dried staring into the flames. He could do nothing but stand there and pray.

* * *

Erik tasted the smoke before he saw it.

He’d been woken by the sound of the fire alarm. It punched right through his dreams, right through the darkness of his room and into his immediately alert brain.

Fire. Get up. Go.

He left without his phone, without his keys, his feet shoved into boots he didn’t remember finding amongst the debris of his room.

He was closest to the stables, but he still had to run. The heat of the fire hit him first, then the roar of its flames.

Then panicked whinnies, the clatter of hooves against concrete.

Then Girard screaming behind him. _Do it now, hit it, hit it. _

Hit it - the automatic release for the stable doors. It’d been a decision made months ago, Erik firmly telling the contractor ‘we need something automatic, in case of fire, you know? Iwant to be able to get them out fast as possible if there’s a fire’.

Someone was yelling about fire engines but he was singular in his focus. He launched the automatic door release but not every horse - even in their terror - would know that the sight of an open door meant safety. So he and Girard ran into the yard and towards the flames for those that refused to leave.

The fire was everywhere. Roaring out of the roof of his office space, out of the back of the stalls, eating through their hard work and loving repairs. He was simultaneously numb and burning as the swell of the fire battled the chill of the air.

It didn’t matter how many horses they thought were in each stable, they needed to check every stall. EJ tried to get a lead rope on them, lead them out calmly, but it was going too slow. In the end he set them loose as fast and as dangerously to his own health as he could manage, frightening them more, pulling them, slapping at their flanks, anything to get them moving. Panicked horses were terrifying. He knew they’d kill him in an instant in an attempt to flee, love and respect be damned, so he kept his wits about them. But in the end, he’d rather have terrified horses galloping away across their land than try to keep them calm as he led them out individually.

He saw Girard across the yard battling on the other side. EJ had to leave him to it. There was no time to waste. Up ahead he saw Colin had overtaken him to the last few stables and just manage to avoid the frightened kick of their new filly. He had abandoned her lead rope and gave her a push towards the other fleeing horses, and she streaked across the yard to the long swinging gate at the back.

This was their protocol: in case of a yard fire get all of the houses out onto the back paddocks and as far away as possible. The fright was good. Nothing moved as fast as a frightened horse.

Erik’s knees buckled at the bang behind him. He turned to see the roof of their offices come down, and a stable door was crunched into two as the supporting beams crumbled.

“Erik!” Girard was at his side, soot-streaked and panicked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Erik. He let Girard drag him upright. They had to get out of here now. Somewhere in the darkness he could hear fire engines screaming their arrival.

“Is that all of them?”

Erik knew why he wasn’t able to get his body moving. The two corner stables, the ones alongside his offices now crushed. He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t get his brain to function. Had they been empty?

“We have to go,” said Girard. His gaze had followed Erik’s, but now his eyes were snapped firmly back on his boss. “EJ, we have to go. Now, come, there’s nothing we can do. We’ll find out.”

Sam looked as devastated as he felt, and EJ knew he was right. He let Girard drag him away, towards the opposite far corner and the ranch house.

Rantanen was standing with his phone to his ear at the very edge of the ranch, where the stablehands were all congregating.

Colin snatched at Erik’s arm as he passed.

“No-one was in there, EJ. Soderberg left his office for the night and we had no horses in those two.”

“Thank fuck,” said Erik, every ounce of his relief in his voice. “Jesus. I thought…thank God.”

Mikko put his cell phone down. “Gabe is coming, Tyson too.”

Erik opened his mouth to ask about the fire engines when something bigger, stronger than he was able to brace against, punched through him. It cracked through EJ’s body like a whiplash, and then a blast of blinding light. And a groaning of brick and metal crying out in agony as it split apart.

Something had exploded in the main wing of the ranch, where the Family slept and ate and lived their lives

Mikko had been knocked to one knee, Sam was holding his face in his hands and Colin let out at agonised howl. Colorado stood staring for a long moment at the hole that had punctured their sanctuary whilst their backs burnt with the fire roaring through their livelihoods. And then they ran.

* * *

Nicke liked how John never put the radio on. He liked the silence, or at least the chance to hear his own tinnitus. Too many years of being close to gunshots had shred his eardrums, but he found the high-pitched hum soothing when he needed to think. But he didn’t like that John kept the sat-nav on, all the time.

_In 500 yards, turn right _the computer told them.

“We’re going to the house, how do you not know this by now?” asked Nicke, watching the little dot that represented John’s Porsche SUV glide down towards the junction.

“Just in case,” John said, lips curled in a smile. Nicke’s eyes fluttered for a second, stuck between rolling them and throwing John a glare for taking the piss, but he settled for smiling as well. Yeah, he liked driving with John. Up ahead André and Kutzetsov were no doubt having a very different kind of car ride. Kuzy would have his shitty rap turned up high, André would be trying to text and drink coffee and change the radio station all at the same time and spilling stuff everywhere. Kuzy would be beating away any attempt to alter the music and calling André all the offensive Russian names he could think of. Nicke stretched a little in the passenger seat, allowing himself the luxury of the quiet.

Six more minutes, the sat-nav told Nicke unnecessarily. Someone could plant Bäckström in the furthest corner of Washington DC and he would be able to find himself back to Ovechkin’s palatial mansion, no sat-nav required.

_Take a right_. The woman’s voice told them.

Kuzy and Burky’s car up front began to roll as the light turned green.

_Turn right._

Nicke opened his mouth to ask if they really couldn’t turn her off, but the words never left his mouth.

Nicke saw the black truck out of the corner of his eye barrelling through the light from the right of their junction. The next moment it smashed into the SUV in front of them and sent it skittering with a sickening bang across the road. Nicke felt the crunch deep in his chest. John was yelling before the car finished moving.

Fuck. Fuck, oh shit.

Nicke snapped at his seatbelt desperately and when it finally came free he fell from the car straight into a run. All around him people were stepping out of their cars, hands over their mouths.

“Jesus, oh god,” he heard John say, a moan of shock and horror. Nicke’s feet sent glass and shattered elements of the two cars everywhere. Kuzy’s car had skidded all the way across the lanes to the left of the junction. When it hit the curb it had flipped onto its side, and came to a stop on its left with wheels spinning, the back end in someone’s front yard. The other car had bounced backwards at the impact of the SUV on the ridge of the kerb, lights flashing frantically.

Nicke ran around the side of the car into glass and blood. People in the other vehicles were calling out. Has someone called 911? Does anyone know first aid? How many people were in there? What the fuck was that guy doing?

Kuzy’s indicator was still flashing as Nicke knelt in the shards of glass and angled himself as far as he could through the windscreen. He saw John’s shoes next to him on the pavement, heard his voice saying ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, shit shit.’

Both of the guys were still belted into their seats, and the air bags were slowly deflating around them. André had been thrown forward, his arms up front of him as though he had tried to brace himself against the front console. They were streaming with blood, and even more blood made the hair on the back of his head shine. He was hung uncomfortably in the stranglehold of his belt, one leg listing downwards as gravity tried to snatch him. Evgeny was wedged between the door on the pavement and his seat, a carpet of blown out glass underneath him. His head was thrown back and jammed underneath the feeder for his belt. There was so much blood over his face that Nicke didn’t see his eyes were open until John squeezed alongside him and gasped.

“Kuzy? Kuzy, can you hear me buddy?”

Kuzy blinked slowly, not looking at John at all. A wet groan eeked out of his lips.

Nicke wanted to stretch forward and help, but he couldn’t. He could feel glass pressing down on his skin through his shirt. The space was too tight, the mangled car too warped. Someone pulled both him and John back, and a man and a woman - doctors, someone else told them - took their place.

“Ambulance is on their way,” a man in a suit told Nicke. He looked dumbly back at the person, uncomprehending.

He saw a woman peer through the shattered window of the other car, and a man grab her elbow and pull her away. There wasn’t a crowd around that car. Nicke waited for anger to come, but it didn’t.

“Do you know them?” asked the female doctor. John nodded, hands in his hair.

“Just until the ambulance get here we might need your help,” she said calmly. They’d been able to make more of a space by pushing at the hood of the SUV, and the male doctor stepped back to allow Nicke to squeeze in alongside her.

Nicke folded himself into the space again where Kuzy and Burky hung, suspended in blood and glass.

“We just need to keep them both very calm and very still,” the woman said to him, her own voice soft and measured.

André had slid in his seat, so that his face was now turned half towards the shattered front window. Nicke couldn’t see his eyes but saw his face twitch, the tips of his eyelashes fluttering.

“André it’s OK,” he said, the words automatically coming out in Swedish. “It’s ok, you’re alright.”

He thought he heard André say something. Nicke managed, finally, to stretch his arm far enough to put a hand down gently on André’s arm. “André, you’re alright, everything’s going to be ok. Just hang on for me and stay still. Stay still André.”

* * *

Paul Bissonnette had just earned a free flat white on his loyalty card. He grinned at the woman on the register. “My lucky day, eh?”

She gave him a smile in return that was on the warmer side of friendly. She and Biz had been in a flirtatious joke-and-smile routine for about a year now. If he ever went to parties with respectable people, she would be the one he’d invite.

He collected his flat white and headed out. Arizona was scorching, of course, and he wouldn’t bother trying to drink his morning coffee until he was ensconced in his truck with the air con turned up high. He held the door open for a couple heading in, then slipped down his sunglasses and headed for his SUV.

He was almost at his car when he heard footfall scrape behind him. He moved out of the way of whoever was walking up fast in his direction. He juggled the coffee and his keys as his phone chimed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he told his screen. “Jesus, Jakob, give me a minute.”

The footsteps stopped behind him when he reached his car. A whole lot of things went through his head as he looked over his shoulder. Maybe he’d left his wallet in the cafe, and someone had run after him to return it. Maybe someone needed directions. Gally lived not too far away, he could have spotted Biz out on his usual coffee run and wanted to talk shop before the caffeine kicked in. He knew a lot of people around Arizona, and it wasn’t unusual to bump into someone, especially this part of Scottsdale.

He saw the gun the man was holding first, then looked up at his face. Two bangs, two blinding spots of pain.

* * *

Anze Kopitar had a wound, somewhere deep within him, and he was finding it harder and harder to carry it around. He didn’t talk about it with his men. This was something he dealt with alone as the Family Captain, and he stood by that decision every day. Even though he saw the same pain in his men’s eyes, every day. They’d lost one of their own. To another Family. They’d done their best to lay him to rest in peace, and that had been thwarted too. The echoing silence on what to do about Florida came across the country towards them and it stung.

It was Kopitar’s burden to bear, his responsibility to shoulder, but he couldn’t wipe out the feelings his men carried with them.

They were having a meeting at the _Kings _club, but the public spaces were empty. He’d closed up on a busy Thursday night to give them all some room to breathe. They didn’t want to talk about what happened, they didn’t want to drink and be merry, but more than that they didn’t want to be alone in their individual houses.

He thought of the empty space next to his wife in his bed at home and his chest hurt all the more. His wife knew of his pain but he couldn’t take this to her, to his children.

Anze lifted his glass as Toffoli came round with the whisky bottle.

“You OK boss?” Tyler asked, keeping his eyes on the liquid as he poured.

“Yeah,” Anze said, trying at a smile. “I’m fine.”

“What was the last on Crosby?”

“No change.”

“Guess that’s good news, right?”

“Well it’s not bad news.”

Toffoli spun the cap on the bottle and nodded. He wandered back to the bar and placed it on the countertop. The others were talking amongst themselves, the kind of heavy and mumbled conversations they all seemed to be having. No-one seemed able to talk with confidence, with determination. It was all…nothing.

Anze didn’t hear the footsteps running across the empty dance floor beyond the VIP area, but Toffoli did.

“What the hell?” Tyler asked, rushing towards the stairs. The curtains was closed. The glass around the VIP area was translucent for privacy and when Tyler moved forward Anze looked up to see three figures running towards them.

He had a moment to think that this was it, his men rushing to tell him they’d heard about Sidney Crosby’s death. Mere seconds later a gun lifted through the curtain and with one single, simple shot, Toffoli was dead.

Anze threw himself to the side, letting the chair fall over the top of him as more gunshots rang out. He had a firearm on him but it was jammed under his jacket, right by his breast bone. He scrabbled behind his leather armchair but it wasn’t enough to hide behind. Doughty let off a round and Kopitar jumped up, streaking to the bar and the safety of the hefty marble structure. He got his gun out but Carter skidded in behind him and tried to haul him away.

“Get the fuck off me,” Anze told him, standing up to fire. He wasn’t going to leave them like this, he wasn’t. If this was his last stand then fuck if he was going to run through the back door like a coward.

Glass exploded behind him and showered onto his shoulders as he crouched to reload. 

Doughty - proof of a bulletproof human being in there ever was one - was somehow still in the middle of the room firing off and untouched. If they were lucky, they only had a few more minutes until reinforcements arrived.

Anze’s mind felt clearer in this chaos than it had for weeks. He was breathing slowly, evenly, his hands no longer shook. He turned to Carter, reloading beside him.

“We kill them, you hear me?”

Carter nodded. No-one escaped. No-one left behind to answer questions. This was beyond that. Los Angeles were going to make the statement they felt that they deserved.

* * *

Jamie picked his phone up on the second ring. He didn’t recognise the number, but that didn’t mean much these days.

“Where is Tyler?”

“What?”

“Jamie, Florida is coming for us. They’ve hit Los Angeles, Washington, Nashville, they’ve killed Lundqvist. Where is Tyler?!”

Across the kitchen, Jordie could hear Patrice’s screaming down the phone. He rang Tyler before Patrice had finished speaking.

“I don’t know. I sent him home. He should be on his way home?”

Jordie shook his head. The line was ringing, but Tyler wasn’t answering.

“Find him, Jamie, for fuck’s sake find him!”

Jamie dropped the call.

“Get everyone to Tyler’s house, now.”

There was no response on Tyler’s cell as they broke the speed limit all the way between the two houses. His front gate was open, stuck halfway with the broken mechanism whirring frantically. Dobby wouldn’t be able to get the car through so they abandoned it on the street and ran on foot up to the house. Dobby and Radulov were armed, but Jamie didn’t let them in first.

He vaguely heard the second and third cars full of Dallas men screeching to a halt on the street.

But more than anything he heard the panicked barking of Marshall, somewhere deep in the house.

Tyler’s hallway was trashed. A streak of blood smeared the white wall. A chunk had been taken out of the entranceway to his kitchen. Smashed glass crunched underfoot.

“Search the house.”

Jamie found Marshall in the garage, his hackles up and teeth bared. The second Jamie opened the door Marshall was through and into the kitchen.

Whatever had happened, it’d happened in the kitchen. Marshall told them that in high pitched, agonising anger. He stood anchored to a spot by the hob, barking loud enough to deafen them. Barking at attackers long gone.

Not too far away from Marshall, Klingberg finally found Tyler’s phone. He handed it in stunned silence to Jamie, who stared at it unseeingly. It was smashed, and bloodied. He had four missed calls from Patrice, six missed calls from Jordie, eight from Jamie.

Tyler was gone.


	33. Chapter 33

Jamie felt like he’d been kneecapped. He didn’t think he had the strength in him to stand and yet, here he was, pacing the living room of his home. His and Tyler’s home. He had to avoid Marshall’s dog toys and the mound of blankets they’d created on that night together on the couch, talking. Talking about Jamie, Jordie, his parents, the worst moment of his life. That incident in his past, he had perspective on it. He had years of turning that moment over and over, reliving it until he had a narrowed field of vision on it, enough to remember but not enough to wallow.

This though was white hot, it was present, it was consuming him and he had no ground to stand on and just get his head around the damn thing.

Tyler was gone. Florida had taken him. There was no sign he was still alive but also no sign that he’d been killed. And Florida would make a sign. They’d wave it from the rooftops if he was dead already.

Jamie’s body locked up at every phone call, as though bracing itself for the news. But all there was was chaos.

Everything and everyone was upended. There was no time for their traditional calls of solidarity and condolences because no-one fucking knew who was alive or dead.

Jamie had been told through Jordie that Claude Giroux had died in the hospital.

Half an hour later they were told that he was, in fact, alive. Just.

Apparently PK Subban was missing in a fire but then wait, not Subban. It was Roman Josi.

Jamie had tried to call Tyson in Colorado and got nothing. Don’t worry, Jordie had told him, they had a fire and an explosion in their building - he’d heard via Janmark and the Swedish network - they were probably trying to deal with it. It doesn’t mean he’s dead.

If men weren’t fighting for their life or fighting off Florida they were in hiding. Many had gone to ground, utilising safe houses their predecessors in bleaker times had created and the new generations had scoffed at. Now they needed them, and fast. The smaller Families had all but disappeared, bolting like raccoons caught digging in the trashcans. They would be waiting to see what happened next for some time, peeking up over the parapet only when absolutely required.

And what were Florida doing? It was organised, it was precise, but it was also chaotic. Nothing was clean or ordered. They were tearing up the North American Families then throwing the pieces to the wind. Canada had yet to be hit but was that their next stop? Or did their fury stop at the Canadian border?

And Tyler was missing.

Where do they look? Jamie had shouted that at everyone who had dared step foot in the living room over the past six hours. _Where do we go, what do we do, how do we find him?_

Nothing. There was talk of getting a flight to Tampa Bay, starting there. But why Tampa? Why not Miami? And what about all the space in between? There was nowhere to look because there were simply too many places to look.

And maybe it wouldn’t even be in Florida. Last time Tyler was taken they had kept him close, to throw everyone off. They’d hidden right by the border of Boston’s territory and that must have killed Patrice, Jamie thought, having Tyler so close but nowhere close enough.

No other Family had help to offer for Dallas’s missing man. They were picking up the pieces of whatever was left, desperately trying to force them back into place.

So Jamie just had Jordie and his men, flitting in and out of the room with plans and ideas that eventually went nowhere. And whilst Jamie didn’t think he could stand, couldn’t possibly conceive of keeping his leaden body upright, it was actually the opposite. He couldn’t stop moving, he prowled and paced and lapped Jordie round and round.

_Where is he, where is he, where is he? _

And when everyone left the room to sleep, he didn’t have anyone to ask but his brother, who just shook his head and told him in a cracked voice: _I don’t know, Jamie. I’m sorry. I don’t know. _

* * *

“We’ve been here before,” Brad said, staring down at the marble countertop. There was a little imperfection in the marble by the stove top, something slight. But he’d noticed it about five years ago and now put his eyes to it the second he walked into the kitchen, like checking in with an old friend. He traced it with his finger, not sure if he would get a response from Patrice.

Patrice was sat on the other side of the kitchen island, thinking quietly to himself. He’d not said much that day. After the initial panic came the rotting, desperate hours of _nothing_.

Nothing to do. Nowhere to search. No-one to talk to.

Brad had tried to call Jamie, but got his brother instead, and a terse _\- Not now dammit _\- for his trouble.

They were all grieving, Brad realised, stabbing at the imperfection merrily hiding away under the solid gloss. We’re grieving him even though he might not be dead because we can’t even begin to look for him.

“We’re letting history repeat itself,” Patrice finally said. Tuukka was there too, just beyond the spotlight lamps over the kitchen island, nudging away at the edge of the darkness. He hadn’t said much. Keeping an eye on Patrice, Brad thought.

“Where do we even start?”

“We can’t. They know that. This is their game. They will use him when they want to. It could be days, it could be weeks.”

“They won’t leave it that long. They’d worry we might actually find them.”

“How? We couldn’t enter Florida without them knowing. We’d either be walking into a trap or walking over a trigger. Tyler would be dead quicker.”

“You’re saying we need to let them do what they want?”

“They need to show their hand. Then we can start to work out ours.”

“And what the hell happens to Tyler in the meantime?”

“He made it last time.”

_“Barely. _Did you _see_ him last time, Patrice? He recovered physically but we both know his mind hardly made it through.”

“We wait,” Patrice said, finally looking up and holding Brad’s gaze steady. “We wait. We don’t move. We do what Chara suggested, we get together with the other Families that can make it, and we plan.”

“Plan what?” Brad asked quietly, not letting his stare falter. “Plan to rescue Tyler, or plan our next diplomatic move?”

Patrice’s jaw was a narrow, harsh line. He clenched it once then stood up, the stool screeching back on the tiling loudly, and then he was gone.

“Can you believe it?” Brad asked after a while, going for darkly amused but feeling his stomach churn with a sudden and overwhelming acidic feeling, something like hate. “He is so frightened to lose Tyler he doesn’t even want to think about trying to find him.”

Tuukka let out one of his little coarse sighs, but didn’t say a word.

Tuukka stayed up with him until the exhaustion got too much and Brad was able to pass out on an armchair in the living room. He vaguely felt a blanket being draped open him, but he wasn’t awake enough to know who it was, or say thank you, or ask if they’d heard anything about where Tyler was.

* * *

Zdeno Chara’s lake house was under an hour’s drive out of Boston, a place where each individual season was experienced vicerally - vibrant fall colours, a heavy blanket of snow, then the chirrup of spring and a swampy summer.

It was easy to see this house’s appeal when the city of Boston got too hot. It was built out of dark grey stone that repelled the heat from the air and lightened as the sun bleached its surface. It was protected on three sides by water, and Chara could pay off the necessary locals to keep the water around his little island free of boats. The one spit of land that led to the house was rocky and narrow, making it a difficult trip with anything but a 4x4 and a steady nerve.

No-one was sure what architect thought to build this rough lump of stone in such a delicately beautiful part of the world. It was a blocky, ugly knuckle in an otherwise soft hand opening out onto the water. It was a place dropped straight out of Transylvania onto the side of a lake in Massachusetts.

And it gave Brad the fucking creeps.

He ripped up his ninth draft of the seating list for Chara’s impromptu summit and took the coffee Ference handed to him with a grunt of a thanks. Brad had done many things in his career for Boston. He’d put enemies down. He’d traded secrets like gold. He’d made deals that condemned or saved people up and down the country. He’d stood in the freezing cold and driving rain to protect men above him. He’d been beaten by the police and even worse by enemies. This, though, this stretched him in a way he hadn’t before.

“You close yet?”

“Don’t even ask.”

Brad checked his phone. Only twelve missed calls still. He was doing a little better today than yesterday. He was filtering anyone that wouldn’t have information about Tyler and anyone who just wanted to bitch at him about accommodation arrangements. That meant he wasn’t really picking up any calls today.

“This isn’t prom, and this house can only take so many people. What part of bringing only two people do they not understand? I don’t know how Colorado didn’t go insane doing this every six months.”

Ference glanced at list draft number six and screwed his mouth up. “Kopitar wants fifteen?”

“_Five _of those in the room. No fucking way. Two in the room, that’s it.”

“He wants to feel special, I guess. They’ve taken Toffoli and Kempe’s deaths hard.”

“I know, I know. But losing guys doesn’t get you special dispensation. New York are sending two in, and they’ve just lost their leader. Kopitar can bring Doughty into the room, and that’s it.”

Ference paused at the bottom of the list. “Dallas is coming.”

“Yeah, Jordie rang me.”

Andréw opened his mouth to ask something that Brad didn’t want to think about, when Brad’s phone started to buzz. Marchand jerked his head towards it. “That’s Mo, answer it for me.”

Ference picked up the phone as Brad started to pencil out list draft number ten.

“Uh-huh…not Brad’s rule Mo, it’s Chara’s…how am I supposed to know that?…Yeah…hang on.” Ference put the phone on speaker and Mo’s voice rang out with all the subtlety of a freight train.

“What the hell you harping on at me for Marchy?”

Brad scratched at Giroux’s name on the table plan just to make himself feel better. “What about?”

“Two people? Two? You do know how Toronto works, don’t you?”

“Not my fault you’re doing your little leadership experiment.”

“Matthews is insisting he has to go because it’s Tyler. And Willy is going to hit the roof if he doesn’t get to scream at someone about Kempe.”

“Matthews and Nylander it is, then.”

“Not so fast, I haven’t even got to Mitch yet.”

“This really isn’t my problem, Mo. Two guys can be in the room, pick your two. I sent you the hotels, or Bergy’s second house is still available. Bring who you want, but if more than two try to step into the room Chara is going to skin them with a flailing knife. And I’m not even exaggerating, he’s got one. He showed me his room of medieval torture implements he collects in this Dracula house of his. Just do as you’re told.”

Ference took the hint and hung up before Mo could start to roar again.

“Fuck. Why can’t anyone take an instruction? Get me a proper drink will you, my head is killing me.”

Andréw passed Brad a beer.

“Anything on Tyler?”

Brad’s gulp of beer went down the wrong way. Once he’d coughed up for a bit he grumbled. “No. Nothing.”

Brad looked up at Ference. His old friend, a guy he’d been in many foxholes with. He didn’t like the look on his face. He didn’t expect him to give him any platitudes, so he provided them himself.

“We’ll find him. We found him before.”

“Hm. And how’s Patrice?”

Brad didn’t have an answer. He went back to his list.

That night he passed the list over to Jordie, in the dark of Chara’s study. The meeting was happening the next day and unless the Families lived within striking distance of Boston and weren’t already there, then they would be arriving late. It was his final draft and it needed to be approved by everyone.

Outside the door Khudobin was catching up with some old Boston friends, and Klingberg was having a very grim conversation on the phone with someone back in Dallas.

“Jamie holding it together?” Brad asked as Jordie looked up and down the list. The older Benn waited until he’d read everything before he answered. “He’s managing.”

“No-one’s heard anything?”

“No.”

Jordie handed the list back over. He levelled Brad with the sort of stare that gave Jamie his reputation. It was clearly a Benn family trait. “We’re running out of options.”

The frankness stung. This was why he had thrown himself so deeply into this meeting. He hadn’t wanted to bring his head above the surface and think about Tyler.

“We ran out of options last time. Look what happened then.”

“You got lucky is what happened, and they failed. We’re not depending on luck.”

The door opened without a knock. Patrice didn’t give Jordie a second look as he placed a piece of paper down on the desk in front of Brad.

“Detroit. Fit them in.”

“Detroit?” both men repeated back at him, but Patrice was out of the door.

“Wait, no…Patrice!”

Brad left Jordie in the office and rushed after his boss, finally catching up with him on the driveway as Patrice stalked toward his car. He had his keys in his hand, which meant he wasn’t being driven, which meant that he was off god knows where to do god knows what.

Brad inserted himself in the space of the open door so that Patrice couldn’t pull it closed.

“Patrice, stop. Since when are Detroit coming?”

“Since this morning.”

“None of us have spoken to Detroit in years, not officially anyway. Not since they fucked us on that-”

“I got a call from Zetterburg. He didn’t say much, but he’s coming. I don’t know what the hell Florida did to them but he wants them put down. Just add them in.”

“Why are we doing this?”

“What?” Patrice asked distractedly, trying to hook his phone up to the dashboard of his car.

“Why are we doing this? This isn’t finding Tyler this is just a Colorado Summit. Only Chara is hosting it now.”

“We need to know what everyone else knows and what everyone else wants to do. Remember it’s not just Tyler that’s gone, Brad, every Family has had something happen. Fuck, Crosby still might not make it, and have you seen Claude? This is about everyone.”

“Oh, like after Kempe’s funeral? When all anyone did after Florida shot Sidney was just _go home_?”

“Jesus, not right now Brad. Out of my way.”

Brad took a stumbling step back as Patrice almost closed the driver door on him. He set off with a chirrup of wheels against the dust, swung the car around and left over the narrow bridge. Brad’s heart was suddenly pounding, he realised, watching Patrice’s car disappear. And his hands were shaking.


	34. Chapter 34

Chara’s formal dining room was full. The formation of seats around the table allowed everyone space and some semblance of hierarchy: boss at the front, their chosen partner seated just to their left behind them. Thirteen Families were present, many more represented by various agreements and ties. They were all Boston’s allies, business partners, friends and old acquaintances, some even necessary adversaries.

Jonathan Toews was stone-faced and furious at one corner, as far away from Detroit as Brad could get them. A white bandage striated his neck, startlingly pure against his summer tan. Every inch of skin from bicep to his wrist on his left side was bandaged. A cast secured his right arm from elbow to wrist, and a piece of tape sat above his cheekbone, dangerously close to his swollen eye, testimony to how lucky he was he was able to glare at his enemies in the room. Just behind him Seabrook nursed a slashed arm in a sling, and his usually immaculate hair stood on end.

On their right, New York were poorly represented. With Lundqvist dead there was only Chris Kreider to take the role of temporary Captain, but he was young and the death had shown up all of the past bad blood within the city. Anders Lee had joined him out of solidarity from the Islanders, but it was a chess match that had yet to weed out a winner. Lee sat slouched silently behind Kreider, eyes dancing from person to person across the room. Checking and re-checking the exits.

There were few people that New York could sit near without incident, and Brad had gone for Dallas. Jamie looked sallow, a man who hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t been happy to leave his phone outside and had almost refused to enter the room, but Jordie had brought him round. Jordie sat behind Jamie, eyes pinned to the back of his younger brother’s head.

Boston had wanted Arizona there, but with Mario still in Los Angeles and Bissonnette’s life still in the balance, they’d had to lump their particular needs in with LA’s for the time being. Anze Kopitar was in a black mood, and the static rolled off him in waves, so much so that the two Families either side of him were unconsciously leaning away. Kopitar had elected to bring Doughty, who had loudly complained at there being coffee served and not alcohol, then snarled quietly to himself when told to keep it down.

Carolina was represented by Dougie Hamilton and no-one else. They’d elected to remove the chair from behind him to avoid the absence of help being obvious, but he still appeared pale and exposed. He was beside Detroit - Henrik Zetterburg and someone called Dylan Larkin that no-one had met before. The young guy stared at the coffee he’d been offered like he didn’t know what to do with it.

Claude Giroux sat next to Detroit, trembling. He was ghostly white and the rust red of his hair was now in painful contrast to his skin. Simmonds was dead, so he had Travis Konecny on his shoulder, not to talk or to offer his opinion - but to be on watch. He had refused coffee or water and had both hands, hovering just above his knees, ready to catch his boss if needs be.

Evgeni Malkin had made it, much to everyone’s surprise. They’d placed him across the table from Philadelphia, Pascal Dupuis behind him and Ovechkin at his side. There weren’t many times that Pittsburgh and Washington would sit side by side, but Ovechkin had known Geno longer than anyone else at the table, and his old friend needed the support. Malkin appeared to be keeping himself together with immense effort. He hadn’t moved an inch after sitting down, hollowed out expression pinned to the table in front of him. Dupuis kept filling up his boss’s glass of water and nudging it closer, but had yet to raise any movement out of him. By the time the meeting began the glass was overflowing.

Alexander Ovechkin was surprisingly calm, all things considered. But Nicke was behind him, quiet and serious, ready to anchor Ovi when it was inevitably needed.

Vancouver was tucked in beside Chara at the head of the table, brooding in the shade of the Boston man’s size. They were unsure as to why they had been invited and nervous because of it. Sure they did a lot of through-trade with Florida but it wasn’t like their house was burning right now. Except, of course, for the home grown troubles they were currently faced with. With the Sedin twins fleeing the arm of the law to their native Sweden they were still sorting out exactly who did what. Bo Horvat and Alexander Edler had shown up, under direction from Edmonton to represent their interests if needs be. After all, McDavid was still legally unable to cross the border. The pair had discreetly done a coin toss outside the room to determine who sat where. Bo wasn’t happy with his position up front.

Toronto had finally settled on sending Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner into the room. Marner had picked up an errant pen and was twirling it about in his fingers. The floor vibrated gently to the bobbing of his knee under the table.

PK Subban and Pekka Rinne kept space between the two Canadian powerhouses. It was like the Nashville duo carried the smoke of the fire with them, an invisible smell that rolled off the shell-shocked pair. Rinne’s eyes were glazed. Subban usually filled the room, sparkling in every corner. Today he was lacklustre, greyed out. He cast his Finnish friend concerned looks over his shoulder every now and then, which Pekka never returned.

“How are Kuznetsov and Burakovsky?” asked Chara as the room began to settle. Ovechkin visibly bristled.

“They will make it. Kuzy’s neck is broken but he can walk, talk, not paralysed. Just need time. André took impact, broke most of his ribs and his pelvis. Will be long time but he will recover too.”

Nicklas’s expression of impassivity broke for a second then came back just as fast. The room digested the news quietly. Everyone there had something to add to this bloody list of consequences.

“Where did it happen?”

“Two streets from my fucking house,” said Ovi, darkly.

“The driver?”

“Dead on impact. He went as fast as possible, accelerated into the crash. No airbag. He wanted to die.”

“Kamikaze style. Great. So they’re happy to kill themselves.”

“Why do we keep saying ‘they’ like we don’t know who they are?” spat Toews. “We know who’s doing this.”

“We don’t know for sure that it’s _him_. The last any of us saw him, he was being lowered into the ground.”

Ovi slammed his hand against the table and whatever he said drew a nod from Geno.

“It’s no good to guess at names,” Bäckström said to provide some clarity.

“Come on Nicke, we all know who we’re talking about,” growled Dupuis. “Fuck, that guy’s name has been coming up again and again over the last few years. We’ve all heard it.”

“We traded with Florida two years ago, and some little shit of a Tampa Bay foot soldier was going on about Trocheck ‘doing things right’ back in the day. You should have seen the slap Stamkos gave him.”

“Anyone heard from Stamkos recently?”

“We spoke six weeks ago. He said he needed to lie low for a while,” Zetterburg said.

“Anyone know where that would be?”

“He could have gone back to where his parents are from. What is it, Montenegro or somewhere?”

“Macedonia, so there’s no way for us to know if he went there. I’m more interested in why he needed to lay low.”

“Maybe it was hearing his old pal Trocheck came back from the dead. That’d frighten the life out me out too.”

“He’s not the only one,” interrupted Hamilton. “I haven’t spoken to Ekblad in weeks. If we think Stamkos ran, then I’d bet that Ekblad has too.”

“So who the hell is doing this? Seriously, who is left down there? Were those guys not in charge anymore, did the Family split again? What? Does anyone know?”

Everyone began to talk at once about their theories and Patrice, at the head of the table, couldn’t help the long slow drag of his gaze up from the mahogany to Chara. The older man pretended not to notice.

“Gentleman!” Chara barked after giving everyone a moment to shout. “Please. All of your information is valuable, but not at the same time.”

“You found Seggy yet?” Doughty asked, loud and directly at Jamie. A few around the table winced at the bluntness.

Jamie didn’t bother to respond, but the look he gave Doughty said enough.

“Well, where did they stash him last time? Providence, right? You Boston guys know anywhere they could have hidden out again? Maybe they’ve got a little hidey-hole outside of Florida they use as a base to fuck us all from.”

Anze Kopitar, never one to apologise for his number two, looked around the table accusingly. “Well? Anything?”

“We don’t know. Florida stick to Florida, that’s what we’ve always thought.”

“Clearly not,” Toews growled.

“East coast doing their fucking best work as usual,” Doughty added.

“Shut the fuck up Doughty,” Matthews said with a shake of his head.

“Why is he even here?” Doughy cried indignantly, pointing a finger across the table at Toronto. “Why do him and Pipsqueak need to be here, how many men have they lost?”

“I extended the invite to anyone who thought they could help,” Chara boomed over Doughty’s shrieking. “Toronto want to help.”

“Go on then,” Johnny said, fixing the pair from north of the border with a glare undiminished by the new mess of his face. “Enlighten us.”

“Well we know Stamkos isn’t involved. He fled the country, think he’s in South American somewhere.”

“Wow,” Toews intoned. “You’ve cracked the case.”

“He was getting out of the way of something, someone. He said he wasn’t safe in Florida anymore. So whoever this is, it isn’t any of the bigger guys. Or at the very least, it’s not Stamkos.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mitch said, light and breezy. Jamie watched the pen spin faster in his fingers. Jamie knew how Mitch had heard. Connor McDavid.

“Look, we’re here to offer help, not swap gossip,” Auston said. “Jesus, next time we won’t bother shall we Doughty?”

“Yeah why don’t you, we don’t need you.”

“And what have you fucking done that’s so great in Los Angeles?”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Bitching about the east coast doesn’t count.”

“Maybe if the east coast did its job,” Subban interjected. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The table dissolved into shouting again.

* * *

Anyone could walk in or out of the room as needed. About an hour into the yelling, a small group emerged. They needed a break from the stifling room, from the men unable to decide if they were friends or enemies.

Auston Matthews, Chris Kreider, Jordie and Edler found themselves in a grim huddle on the front stairs of the house. Kreider lit a cigarette and Auston took one from the proffered pack.

“This is a mess.”

“I don’t even know what to say. I’m just sitting there like a fucking idiot,” Kreider said. He scratched at his newly shaved head.

“Sorry to hear about Henrik,” Jordie said, and the others nodded. Different Family or not, Henrik had long been a respected Family leader, and a widely liked man.

“Thanks. It’s just…if this group from Florida managed to take out the Captain of our Family, what else can they do, you know?”

Auston handed Kreider his lighter, and the group went back to glum silence.

It was soon punctured by the rumble of a car engine.

The group watched as two black SUVs came into view. The cars took the bridge and then moved in an arc around in front of the building, their hoods gleaming in the sudden blast of Massachusetts sunshine.

The back doors of the first SUV popped simultaneously, the driver and passenger rushing needlessly to get there first.

“Oh shit,” Jordie said, realising something before the rest.

Carey Price stepped out of the front car, serene and immaculate as ever. There was something like a smile on his alabaster face as he emerged from the darkness of the vehicle. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. He moved like he’d been given the script beforehand, and everyone around him were merely the extras.

Shea Weber rounded the other side of the car, a contrast to Carey in so many ways. A dark beard chewed up his jaw and his hair was kept back in a rough sweep. His face was set ready to snarl, and the passenger who got in his way trying to open the door for him scurried away like he’d been burnt.

Neither broke their stride from the car to the door. And neither gave the four on the stairs even a passing glance.

“The fuck,” Auston whispered coldly as they got close, something primal in this Toronto boss driving to tense up and almost stand. Jordie clamped his hand down so hard on Auston’s arm it startled them both.

“Don’t.”

The front door to the house opened and the four turned to see Zdeno Chara himself with a hand on the frame. Wordlessly he moved to the side as Carey and Weber entered. The last thing they saw was the back of Price and Weber’s heads as they walked the front hallway, Chara showing them the way.

“Are you kidding me?” Auston said, still whispering.

“Are you _fucking _kidding me?” Jordie added, louder. “What the hell is Chara doing welcoming Montreal into his house like this?”

He jumped up from his seat and barged through the front door. Chara and Montreal were gone. The meeting was still going on in down the hall, but a few more of the men had drifted out in search of fresh air. Brad was one of them. Jordie grabbed Marchand by his wrist and pulled him into what turned out to be a downstairs bathroom.

“Jesus Jordie, didn’t expect this from you.”

“Shut up and listen to me, you rat. Why the hell is Montreal at this thing?”

Brad looked back at him speechlessly. “Montreal?”

“Montreal. You showed me all the table plans for this meeting and the list of people attending and you _never _mentioned Montreal. Not to any of us. So why the hell are they here? You do realise that we’re here to put down Florida and to find Tyler, not to have an opportunity to make a deal with those fuckers?”

“I didn’t invite Montreal.” Brad ran his hands through his hair. “Chara must have done it.”

“Chara? Or Patrice?”

“Of course not Patrice.”

“Really? Because for a guy who was supposed to have been sorry he didn’t find Tyler last time, he isn’t doing a very good job of helping to find him this time.”

Brad got up in Jordie’s space, that loss in height meaning nothing to a guy who was used to pissing off other people, and good at it. “Listen here you fucking ginger lumberjack, why don’t you get your facts right before you go talking shit you don’t know about? Patrice is doing everything he can to find Tyler, we’re _all _trying. You turned up to this talk too, if you think you’re so goddamn smart at finding him why haven’t you gone down there and found himself? Why did you even come to this?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, both suspended in a drawn out pause of indecision. Eventually Jordie gritted out. “I think we’re on the same side of the argument.”

Brad narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Look I don’t know why Montreal are here, ok, and I’m sure neither does Patrice. But Chara has obviously decided this is going to be a mini-Colorado summit meeting and he’s hijacking the fucking thing.”

“We’re not going to find Tyler like this.”

“No.”

Brad took a small step back and rubbed his hand through his hair. “I should know, we tried it last time. He could already be dead.”

“Don’t say that,” Jordie said, his words flat and quiet. “But you’re right. I convinced Jamie to come here because everyone else told me we were going to come up with a plan to kill Florida once and for all, but so far all I’ve heard is whining. And Chara has used it as a chance to get his oar in with Montreal. It’s not right.”

“Well then we need to do something about it. The meeting has a break in ten minutes, when it does you get Jamie and bring him to me.”

* * *

Patrice listened to Brad explain about Montreal with a ringing in his ears. Montreal, an uninvited Family at a meeting done under the Boston flag. Patrice’s Family. Zdeno Chara’s role was meant to be ceremonial at best and Patrice felt the flush of anger deep in his chest. Chara was not only overstepping the rules _he’d _laid out when he retired, he was spitting in the face of Patrice’s leadership.

And worse than that, he was letting the death and destruction Florida was unleashing on them all become just a background to leverage a tricky conversation.

“He always wanted to get in with Montreal,” Patrice said when he finally found his voice. “He always said I had to try to get them on our side, that I needed to go up there and make peace with them. And he’s…he just fucking _invited _them here? He can’t have called Carey Price up this morning and they agreed to fly down, this had to be planned the minute we knew we were doing this summit.”

“Chara doesn’t give a shit about finding Tyler, about sorting what we are going to do about Florida, he wants to score a deal.”

Jamie drew up to where the pair were huddled under an elaborate doorway that led into a former servant’s kitchen. He looked furious. Jordie was behind him.

“Montreal?” he hissed at Patrice. “What is Chara doing?”

“Are we bad mouthing Chara?” Auston asked with faux innocence, popping up next to Jordie. Their little hiding spot was becoming crowded.

“I can’t sit in that room anymore,” Jamie said, pointing towards the door but keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of others around them. “And let god knows what happen to Tyler for a second time just to give Chara the chance to talk to his old rivals. This stops now. We’re not going back in there.”

“This isn’t going to find Tyler,” Auston admitted. He looked briefly troubled, his eyebrows knitting together. “Let me help. Tyler’s my friend, I don’t want to think about what he’s going through. We can…I don’t know, fly down to Florida, go rattle some cages? We know some hideouts and offices of theirs, we could give it a go.”

“Anything is better than this.”

“Fine,” Patrice said. “We will go down to Florida. It might not help but at least it’s _something. _And I am not going to sit in this house whilst Chara buddies up to Carey Price. But we have to go quickly, and now. I can’t imagine everyone in that room would agree with us.”

“Especially Chara,” Auston noted, which Patrice ignored.

As the other men ambled back into the room to resume talking the four of them flitted out the back door to where their cars were parked in neat rows overlooking the water.

Brad felt his fingers thrum as he started up his car.

Finally, they were doing something. _Patrice_ was doing something.

His boss was in the passenger seat and Auston jumped into the back.

“I’m not riding with the Benns,” he said, when Brad looked back at him. “I can’t take all that angsty silence and staring.”

Brad eased the car into drive, cautious not to roar the engine and go flying away from the building.

He stopped briefly to wait for Jamie. The moment the car came to a halt the back door popped to reveal Kris Letang holding the handle, his coat on and his hair uncharacteristically whipped to a mess in the wind.

“Wait,” he snarled at the interior of the car, all of whom had frozen in shock at the sight of him.

“Is this a car-jacking?” Brad asked, trying to turn to get Kris in his field of vision. He didn’t like not being able to see the guy’s hands.

“Geno’s sent me to fill you idiots in before you do something stupid.”

“Geno?”

“Shut up and move over.”

Auston looked like he’d rather chew bees than sit in a car with Letang, but he didn’t have much choice, so he slid his ass over to the other side. Kris swung into the seat and snapped the door shut behind him.

“Drive,” he told Brad, who just about managed to quash an eye roll. He could see Jamie in the car behind them staring straight ahead, could almost feel how tight the Dallas man’s fingers gripped the wheel. He put the car into drive and angled out between Philadelphia’s two parked cars. They rounded the side of the house and Brad slowed to a stop.

“Fucking Montreal,” he heard Auston hiss behind him.

The two Montreal cars that had safely delivered Shaw and Price were still parked up in front of the house, totally cutting off anyone wanting to get round the driveway. Brad’s anger flared painfully. Chara shouldn’t let them get away with this. This was his house, it was _their_ Family’s meeting. No matter how special Montreal thought they should be, they needed to park their cars exactly where everyone else had to. He could only imagine how the jumpy, neurotic Family men inside would react if they came out and saw Montreal cars blocking the way for a quick exit.

Brad launched himself out of the car, leaving the engine running. No-one bothered to stop him.

“Hey!” he yelled at the front car. A guy with long hair was propped up in the front seat playing with his phone.

“Hey!” Brad shouted again, banging his open palm against the window. The driver levelled an acidic glare at him and opened up the door.

“What?”

“Move your fucking cars.”

“_Non_.” He made to pull the door closed but Brad got his fingers in there.

“Move your cars, you’re in the goddamn way.”

The man unfolded himself from the vehicle. He was pretty young, Brad thought, for a Montreal driver with such an attitude. But he was tall and built like a brick wall, and looked ready to solve arguments with his fists rather than his words.

“How about you get back in your car, short ass, and wait your turn?”

“You’re supposed to park them at the back with everyone else.”

“I don’t care,” the kid said slowly, drawing out the vowels in that way French Canadians did so well.

Brad spun on his heel and headed back to the car.He didn’t know how long they had left before Chara got wind of what was happening, so he didn’t have time for this shit. He didn’t want to know if Patrice’s resolve would crumble in the face of his old mentor, or maybe it would start an internal war that Boston possibly couldn’t handle - whatever it was they needed to not be around to find out just yet. 

He jumped back in the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. Behind him Jamie had pulled all the way back into the parking area, so he’d got the idea. Brad reversed the car as far as he could then snapped it into drive.

“Brace yourselves.”

Two seatbelts clicked into place in the back seats.

Brad put his foot down and aimed the front of the SUV straight at the bonnet of Montreal’s gleaming machines. He saw the young Frenchman balk and back peddle to get out of the way in time. The driver of the second car was too stunned to move as Marchand drove the car straight at the first vehicle. He caught the front bumper at just the right angle and kept on going, pushing the car in a grinding crunch off to the left. His own car barely slowed. Behind him Jamie had his own foot down and came through seconds later, bouncing the Montreal car away even further and smashing what remained of its front lights. It ended up braced against the front of the second vehicle, whose driver was still gawping in shock.

Letang and Matthews let out a whoop as Brad took the rocky bridge off Chara’s property.

Patrice had moved a hand to the grab handle on his side of the car. “Well that’s one way to do it Marchy.”

“Fuck Montreal. I’m sick of this shit.”

Kris leant between the front two seats. “Turns out you might have some balls after all, Marchand.”

“Shut up and tell us what Geno said.”


	35. Chapter 35

“Where am I driving?”

“North.”

“North?”

“Get on the highway here going north and shut the hell up. Geno just told me all of this, I need to remember it right, so don’t fucking interrupt me OK?”

“Can you hear him, Benn?” Brad asked into the dash where he’d put the Benn brothers in the other car on speaker.

“We can hear you.”

Kris forced his shoulders between the two front seats, leaving Auston to watch the back of his head as he spoke.

“When Florida came for us last time, it came from the top. Stamkos, Ekblad, Luongo, Vasilevsky, they launched the whole thing. The plan was to start taking our small operations in each state. They planned to take Wilkes-Barre from us, Providence from Boston, same in every Family they hated, all in one go. But some of them wanted to go at it a different way. Trocheck told Stamkos and the others in charge that he and his band of merry psychos who they normally used to keep the Florida Family in line could help them get the job done with more impact. They refused, said it wasn’t the right way to go about it. But Trocheck thought he was right, and that he had enough support to start his own coup. He started in Carolina by snatching Seguin. Trocheck’s plan had been to hold Tyler for ransom, torture him, kill him, I don’t even know, but Stamkos and the others discovered what was going on. Their plan was shaky at best, and if some people from Florida had gone rogue and killed Seguin then they knew we would destroy their Family. They packed up their own plan and told Trocheck he had better shut down his.

Trocheck lost all of his supporters in about a day. In the end, none of them dared go against the leaders in their Family. So Trocheck was left with a drugged up Tyler, and Stamkos and Hedman coming his direction to drag him back home. He panicked, and dumped Tyler alive where Boston could find him.”

“So wait, why did they pretend Trocheck was dead before this, if they weren’t going to use him for something against the other Families?”

“Trocheck being dead was to stop the police sniffing around, not us. He was wanted for murder and everything else in Florida. It was starting to bring attention beyond state police, and they didn’t have those guys in their pocket.”

Jordie’s voice broke over the speaker. “We had a visit from the FBI. They said they were looking into what was going on in Florida. We thought they were just interested in whether there was going to be a war.”

“Seems they’ve been sniffing around Vincent Trocheck and Florida’s use of him for years. He was leaving a bloody trail and they couldn’t pay off the FBI to ignore it like they could local police. He was too visible to be hidden easily, and if he got caught the whole Family could come down. So they faked his death, and stuck to the lie. The Florida Family failed in their plan, and he didn’t have enough protection around him to go through his. He knew that all Florida would have to do to silence him for good was tell the police that the body of Vincent Trocheck was walking around, looking pretty healthy.

So Trocheck planned to beg for forgiveness from his Captains, take his beating, and his men scattered to wait and see what would happen. And one of them snuck into Pittsburgh. He managed to get hold of Geno, guess the guy has Russian connections. He was in a panic, thought that if Florida didn’t kill him, and they didn’t kill Trocheck, then the psycho would come after him because he knew too much.”

“Who?”

“Aleksander Barkov. But instead of offering him protection or telling him to get lost, Sid and Geno had the idea to use him. Florida were not dead, they knew it wouldn’t be long before Florida tried again. And this guy had once - before he saw some fucking sense - been as close to Trocheck as anyone. He knew how that guy’s mind worked and Trocheck trusted him. So they told him to turn around. Go back to Florida. Keep an eye on Trocheck and what was going on in the state. And act as a warning if something was coming our way.”

“And he just said yes?”

“Of course not, not easily. And they had to get him to turn around before he would be missed back in Florida. Those guys had to go back and take their punishment if they ever wanted to work in a Family again, and Barkov has nothing else. Trocheck would expect him to stand alongside him and take the licks. If not, his life wouldn’t be worth living.

I don’t know what Geno did, but it obviously worked. Barkov agreed he would go back to Florida. He stayed in with Trocheck, somehow convinced the maniac that he was his right hand man. I don’t know what Stamkos and the others did to them, but it kept Trocheck quiet for a while. But not forever. And this time Trocheck did his work, and he managed to get a group around him so brainwashed and convinced he was their saviour that this time he realised he could actually do it.

Eventually, men like Stamkos and Luongo knew he was gaining too much ground. Florida was failing as a Family, they could barely do any business, the amount of men in their Family who believed the shit Trocheck spouted about the good old days had grown too many. And if you weren’t on board with Trocheck, you were against him.

That was why they went missing, they had to get away from Trocheck and his followers. It was too late to stop them.

This time when Trocheck hit, he didn’t make a mistake. Apparently Barkov tried to get a warning to Sid, but he didn’t get it there in time.”

Letang faltered for the first time in the story. His knuckles went white against the seat leather.

“He wasn’t able to stop any of it. Trocheck’s random, he gives orders when he feels like it, there’s no timetable or plan. Barkov tried to get hold of Geno but he wasn’t exactly in his right mind after what happened. When Chara called his meeting Geno was finally able to tell me about what the hell has been going on and tell me about Barkov. He knows where Trocheck is, Barkov is with him. He’s told Geno there’ll be more of these kinds of attacks. If we’re going to go there, we have to be ready to kill him. And if we do, we might be able to get the head off the snake.”

“What about Tyler?” Jamie’s voice was clear and sharp across the echoing speakers.

“He’s there, with Trocheck and Barkov. Barkov is protecting him as much as he can. He’s in charge of whatever drugs they give him, he’s dosing him up with harmless shit when he can. But there’s only so long he can get away with that. And if Trocheck decides to up and shoot Tyler in the back of the head, Barkov might not be able to stop him.”

“What’s Trocheck’s plan for Tyler?” Patrice asked, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them.

“Barkov isn’t sure. But he thinks it’s a pride thing. Letting Tyler live was just a reminder that Trocheck failed the last time. He came at the rest of us hard but this one…Barkov thinks he’s going to make a show.”

“Then we have to get down to Florida now.”

“Flower’s organising a private jet for us out of Norwood Memorial Airport.”

The car went silent. Patrice turned round in his seat.

“What?” Letang snapped, everyone’s eyes on him.

“How much money do you guys have?”

“I don’t know, I’m not the accountant.”

“I joined the wrong Family,” Jordie said over the speaker phone.

“Just put your foot down and get us there Marchand, we could already be too late to stop this thing.”

“Do we trust Barkov?” Patrice asked later into the tense silence that eventually fell between the two cars.

“What other choice do we have?” Auston said bitterly. “Either he’s our ticket to stop this thing or we’re walking into a big trap. Not much we can do about it.”

“We could have more back up,” Brad pointed out.

“I’ve got half of Dallas heading to Florida to meet us,” Jamie said. No-one had bothered to hang up on him and Jordie in the other car.

“We don’t have any other Family help we can call upon?”

“They’re all either in the hospital or they’re at that meeting we just left.’

“Colorado?”

“They were hit too,” Jordie said, after a long silence over the speakers. “We don’t know what’s going on there. But they can’t fly down to help us.”

“I’d have a hard sell getting anyone in Canada on board,” Auston said, tapping away on his phone. “But I can ask around.”

“Try.”

Patrice’s phone began to ring. He turned the screen towards him, then turned it off completely.

“Tell Mitch not to say a word to anyone at that meeting that he doesn’t absolutely have to,” Patrice said. “We can’t risk someone who can stop us finding out.”

Brad had seen the number on his screen before it powered down. It was Chara's personal cell, the one Brad certainly had no business knowing, the one that only Patrice was supposed to have memorised. He was sure Patrice saw him notice, but his boss kept his eyes straight ahead. 


	36. Chapter 36

Tyler dreamt he was swimming. He was in a pool, but it was the size of a lake, as big as the Ontario lakes he’d visited as a kid with his family on those rare vacations. He was floating, watching the sky fill with birds above him. He kept thinking - I need to head to the steps. I need to get out. But still he floated, watching the birds begin to amass to a flock so thick that he couldn’t see the sky anymore. And they were squawking, screeching, filling his ears with a repetitive shrieking. He tried to lift his hands to cover his ears but he slipped. He hadn’t been floating, he’d been sitting on the edge. And now he was sinking, hands unable to pull himself back up, he was free falling down into water so dark he could hear the blackness echoing back at him.

* * *

He woke up sweating. The ceiling fan thumped repeatedly above him. There was a screw loose, so it banged like a broken washing machine as it turned. Its pull chord trembled. He’d tried to reach it one day, but the IV’s in the crook of his arm tugged too painfully as he’d tried to lift them above his head.

The fan wasn’t doing much to dispel the muggy air. There was no air conditioning in this room, but he was sure he could hear the hum of a unit somewhere.

Wherever he was, it definitely wasn’t Dallas. The air was too tangy with humidity, felt too wet against his skin. He’d made peace with the fact that it was probably Florida, and that if he didn’t work out what was going on then he might just die in Florida.

Wherever he was, there was no traffic. He thought he could hear water running naturally somewhere nearby, like a river or a stream.

Thoughts were getting mixed up, but this he knew for sure: he wasn’t as confused as he should be.

And so he’d played drugged. Lolling his head, pretending to sleep, shifting around uncoordinated. Whatever he could do to not raise the alarm that whatever they were pumping into him through the IV in his arm was doing next to nothing.

Sure, he felt nauseous, and his hands shook, but he wasn’t out of his mind.

Not like last time.

He couldn’t hear footsteps outside the door, but he never did. It was like the second they left the room they went far away. That made him nervous. He could be being watched, thereby negating the need for a guard at his door. He didn’t dare search for a camera, but there were various places they could be hidden. It looked like the room had once been someone’s living room, and the only clearing that had been done was to pile everything into a far corner. They could have hidden something anywhere amongst the crap to watch him.

But he’d been testing the theory, things like trying out the ceiling fan and shuffling to the window. No-one had burst in to strap him down. Maybe the door was heavily locked and there was no need to physically guard a drugged man.

Tyler was lying on a ratty mattress on the floor. When he sat up the world span for a good few minutes before it settled. He wasn’t being given enough to knock him out but it sure as hell was making him feel weird. He put his feet underneath and hauled himself up, using the corner sconce of the nearby wall for purchase. The IV was connected to a suspended bag, hospital style, and he dragged the whole thing along with him to the window.

That noise he could hear was an air conditioning unit. A big one. It was probably the same reason he could hear trickling, as condensation leaked outside the unit and streaked the wall with damp. The building next to the one he was in was industrial in size, and the cooling system was vast. Big silver tubes wormed into complicated shapes across the back of the building.

Plenty of places to hide.

Beyond it, a chain link fence protected the outer limits of whatever property they were on. It was worn down by heat and years of neglect. One section was curling where thick weeds had burst through the ground and began to eat the metal that had forced it back. Enough to fit a human body through? Maybe not.

Tyler staggered back to the mattress and lay down again.

He had to have more strength than this to make this work.

No-one came for hours. When they did, he kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep. He didn’t recognise the voices above him that gave him the most cursory of checks.

They can’t have been watching him study the world outside the window.

The pair left, and then Tyler was up and back at the glass.

The window was locked, unsurprisingly, but Tyler had been working at it with his fingers every chance he got. The pads of his fingers were bleeding. He was sure they would notice that, but no-one had. He fit his fingers back into the groove and began rocking the wood back and forth, unleashing years of tense pain at being bolted and left to survive the heat.

Outside in the dark men’s voices cracked to life, and he pressed himself against the wall.

“Get the gate, they’re coming in.”

There was a rattle of metal and then a lorry was backing into the space between the two buildings. Two guys with the girth of seasoned lorry drivers came round the back of the vehicle and rattled the lock. They shook hands and then left.

The warehouse was either something to do with Florida, or Florida were using it as a good cover. He couldn’t risk screaming for help. If they were in a part of Florida where the Family ran the show then no-one would risk being a Good Samaritan, not out here. If he busted out the window and ran towards them they’d turn their backs and let him get shot where he stood.

No, he had to find his own, quieter way out.

He slept on it some more. He dreamt he was running this time, legs singing and chest busting for breath. When he woke up he was drenched in sweat.

Alone. And without a needle in his arm.

It took him a while to work that one out, blearily peering at the soft junction his arm where a small piece of body tape had once kept the needle secure. It had peeled enough that the needle remained against the sticky surface, but it wasn’t tucked inside a vein anymore.

Carefully he pulled it away and held the needle up. It beaded with whatever was hanging in the bag above his head. It had to have been out of his system for a few hours.

How had they not noticed?

Tyler dragged himself upright again and waited for the room to still. There was a water bottle next to his bed and he drained the whole thing in three gulps.

The sun was already up, but there was no sign of life outside.

Tyler felt it in his fingers, that tingling sensation that had long been his early-warning system. All his life that feeling had told him to move to the exit, look over his shoulder, listen for the lie.

It had served him too long to ignore it now.

He moved to the window and after levering with his fingertips something, finally, sprang loose with a dry thump. He lifted the sash window gently, wincing at the grind of swollen wood chafing against the frame.

He wanted to wait, to know if the noise had been heard, but he didn’t have the time. His head was rushing, and so were his ears. He wouldn’t have been able to hear a bomb go off, all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his own voice telling him _go, now, this is your chance_.

Tyler hit the ground beneath the window with a thud. He snatched against the wall for support and managed to stay upright. The grass was compact and dead, and a cloud of dust puffed up as he settled. He smothered his mouth with his own hand to stifle his ragged breathing. He knew he had to move, but the painful angle of the sun burned his eyes closed. He crouched for a moment to gather his bearings, feeling the press of his dry lips against his bloodied palm.

He ran.

The soles of his feet screamed from the grit and the sand, his whole body squeezed tight with pain. His path went across a wide swathe of land at the back of the building he’d been kept in, the part most hidden from the road. He skidded into the fence and hit the peeling corner he’d been staring at for days.

It was big enough, just. He had his shoulders through before something exploded the wire next to him. He didn’t stop to see where the bullets were coming from. Something hot lanced through his palm and he felt a warm spring of blood flood his fingers. He got his hips through the gap and skidded down the bank on the other side

The gun shots stopped, but Tyler didn’t. He threw himself down into a dried gully and sprinted along the dead riverbed, leaving a trail of sand and dust lingering in the air behind him. The ground was too dry to try to climb, but soon the grass and reeds were taller than his head and he was becoming more entangled than hidden. He scrambled upwards as quickly as he could, trying not to leave his weight on the ground long enough for it to slip away from him. He made it halfway before he started sliding. He caught the trunk of a tree and pulled, pushed himself up higher.

There was no shouting, no footsteps, but he knew they were hunting him. His movements were creating a cloud of dust and his feet broke the dried bracken and dead leaves in a riot of crackling and snapping. He just had to get far enough away that he could hide, but there was nowhere to go in this swathe of dead trees and kindling.

Finally the ground beneath Tyler’s feet started to solidify. He was nearing the top of the tree line, but he had no idea what was beyond. If it was a road he could get his bearings, maybe even risk flagging down help. But he didn’t have time to stop and plan. Once the adrenaline left him he feared he wouldn’t be able to put one foot in front of the other.

Soon he was able to use rocks and thicker, lusher trees and bushes for hiding places. The ground became swampier underfoot. He was closer to water. Tyler paused for a while and tried to listen to the air around him over the wheezing in his chest. He thought at first it was the roaring of his blood in his ears, but it wasn’t. It was a car engine. He huddled closer behind a craggy mess of boulder and tree roots that created its own small overhang. A car door slammed above him.

Tyler crouched for what felt like hours, listening to footsteps swing closer than fade away, only to return, closer each time.

“I know you’re here,” a voice called out eventually, taunting him.

Eventually the footsteps eased away and stayed silent. Tyler breathed hot air into rock, his nose pressed against the unforgiving surface, soil clogging his eyelashes. He waited, and waited. There was no-one. He couldn’t hear any engine anymore, or the crackle of dried grass moving.

He began to unfurl from the shadow of his hiding position when something snapped on the floor behind him. Tyler spun and someone was standing over him, gun in hand. Tyler recognised him from studying known Florida faces, attempting to bring back memories he’d spent years burying. This was Yanni Gourde, and he was smiling.

“Found you,” Yanni said. He lifted his gun. He hadn’t lined up the shot before more footsteps crunched up behind Tyler. He turned his head. If he was going to be murdered, he wouldn’t have to look at Yanni as he did it.

Standing in front of Tyler was Aleksander Barkov. He looked sun tanned and exhausted, eyes like pin drops in the snow. 

“You got him,” he said to Yanni. His accent was thick and his words staccato. He didn’t flinch at the bugs and flies that filled the air, even as they butted themselves against his face and neck.

“What does it look like?” Yanni didn’t sound happy.

“Leave him to me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you kidding me? I found him. Trocheck said whoever find him, kill him. I found him,” Yanni said petulantly. Tyler didn’t turn to look at Yanni. He kept his eyes pinned to Barkov’s face, watched the bitter look of distaste spread.

“Fuck you Gourde. You just want credit from Trocheck.”

“And you don’t?”

Barkov lifted his gun in one sharp movement, and aimed it directly at Tyler.

“I didn’t get to do this last time. We couldn’t do what needed to be done. I am owed this.”

“I found him first,” Gourde repeated, all but stamping his foot. “We could take him in together, give him back to Trocheck.”

“Too late.”

Barkov fired his shot. Tyler felt the bang go through him, his body jerking with the noise. But in the seconds later he felt…nothing. No pain, no warmth of blood escaping him. His chest heaved as he stared up at Barkov’s gun.

Aleksander dropped his arm and tucked the gun away. Behind Tyler, a heavy groan then a wet thump.

“Tyler, get up.” Barkov said. He took two strides towards him and Tyler crabbed backwards on his hands and feet to get away. His hand slipped in something. Yanni’s blood.

“Get up, now!” Barkov all but screamed at him. He went to grab Tyler’s arms and Tyler kicked him away. He didn’t know why. He just had to get away. Anywhere but here.

“Tyler, Tyler, I’m trying to help you,” Barkov said, his voice shaking with a barely managed control. “Get up, come with me.”

“No. No, no, I-”

“If they find us they are going to kill us, both of us. You have to get up, we have to go.”

Barkov snatched Tyler’s shirt in his hands and hauled him to his feet.

“Come with me.” They were eye to eye. Tyler could see the nasty sting of red and the dampness in Barkov’s eyes, and a wild and barely contained panic. “I can help you Tyler, but we have to go now. _Now_. I swear to you. I swear.”

Tyler let go of a torn breath he didn’t know he was holding. Barkov let him go. When he turned and walked away, Tyler followed.

They moved up the bank to the very top of the tree line. Barkov pulled him the last few feet when his body gave up the pretence of energy, almost strangling him with his own clothes. The top of the tree line faced a road. Hard compact dirt with no tarmac, but a road nonetheless. Two SUVs were parked there, one neatly angled into the rough grass and the other abandoned with the driver’s side open and an alarm pinging inside. Barkov went for the second one.

“Get in.”

Tyler fell into the passenger seat. All the fight had left his body in one go, he was numb. He barely had the strength to breathe, never mind pull the door closed behind him. Before he could collect his thoughts the car’s wheels chirruped in the dust and they were barreling down the unmarked road.

“What’s happening?” Tyler gasped out.

“Put your belt on.”

“Where are we going?” Tyler asked as he snatched feebly at the seatbelt. He knew he was shouting but he didn’t care.

“We’re getting out of Florida.”

“Why?”

“Tyler, I will tell you everything. But right now, I have to drive. If we don’t get out of this now then we don’t get out of this alive. I will tell you when I can, I promise.”

Tyler let his head roll back onto the seat. God he was tired. He was fleeing, he’d narrowly missed being killed. And now all he could think was to sleep. He came around minutes later, his body screaming in delayed shock. His head was a mess.

“Where are we going?”

“Are you with me?” Barkov asked, eyes pinned to the road but hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m awake.”

“Don’t go to sleep. I took the needle out in the night but you’ll still have a lot of it in your system.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just hang on. I need to get us out of here.”

Barkov slapped on the brakes and made a right turn without indicating. It didn’t matter - they were in a backwater, minimal traffic, no-one around them. Just tired, dilapidated home after abandoned lot. Barkov blasted through a red light.

“I can’t take the highway,” he said, almost to himself. “The cops are paid off. I have to take us on the back roads. Hang on.”

They hit a rural road hard, the transition from asphalt to compact dirt jolting them in their seats. Tyler hauled himself upright with the hand rail and managed to sit up straighter.

“What can I do?”

Barkov kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. “Under your seat there’s a gun. If anyone shoots, shoot back. And there’s cash. When we stop we abandon this car, so grab both and take them with you.”

Tyler scooped his hands under his seat and felt the cool side of a firearm. A felt bag nestled alongside it.

“Got them.”

“We won’t stop for three hours. Then I’ll tell you what’s going on. If we get there, we have a chance. If.”

It was hours of hell. Barkov smacked Tyler awake if he slipped unconscious. Tyler was desperately thirsty, but there was no water in the car. Aleksander navigated the roads like a rally car driver. As time went on his turns and switchbacks got more precise. Whatever panic that had been coursing through Aleksander’s blood for hours seemed to be leaking away the further they got from the death of Yanni.

At two and a half hours into the journey things changed.

“I recognise that car,” Barkov said, his arms tensed from gripping the wheel.

Tyler could only watch as Barkov wound a complicated route the centre of whatever Florida town they were currently in. Tyler had no sense of direction or where they were, but Barkov seemed to know this place by rote. The car behind them, a blue SUV with tinted windows, followed their every convoluted movement.

“Who is it?” Tyler asked, the first words he’d spoken in hours.

“I don’t know who’s driving, but that’s Kucherov’s car.”

A chill went through Tyler at Kucherov’s name. The car stalked them through town after town, present but not close enough to see the driver.

“How are we going to get away from them?”

“Further ahead there’s a route I’ve planned to where we need to go. They can’t follow us there because we don’t have protection from the local police. I’ll take the risk of this car being noticed. But they won’t. Last time one of us was caught by this police station, they didn’t make it out of the holding cell.”

It took an agonisingly long time for the car behind them to peel away.

“They’re gone.”

“We have to get out of town before they beat us to that road.”

A phone rang in Barkov’s pocket.

“They can’t track that, can they?” Tyler asked, nodding his head to where Barkov’s thigh was lighting up.

“They don’t know this number,” Barkov said, levering his hips up so he could wriggle the phone from his pocket. He accepted the call and talked on speaker phone in tense, clipped sentences. Tyler thought for a strange moment that he recognised the voice on the other end of the phone.

Whatever he was speaking wasn’t English or Swedish. Tyler flushed cold. What if this wasn’t his big escape? What if Barkov wanted him for himself, what if this was another crazy Florida power struggle?

“Who was that?” he asked when Barkov hung up and put the phone on the dashboard.

“No-one.”

“Listen to me Barkov, you stopped me from getting shot in the head earlier but I am not dying in a fiery car crash or at the hands of your fucking Family without finding out what is going on. Who was that?”

Barkov was quiet for a long moment, eyes still on the road. It was swinging into late-afternoon and family mini-vans were dotted everywhere, packed with kids off to their next after-school activity. SUVs and sedans were running errands and heading to meetings. The road was so innocuous, innocent, except for the two men in this car.

“Why would I give you a gun if I was trying to kill you?” Barkov asked, not looking away from the road.

“I don’t care. Tell me. I’m more surprised at you trying to help me than you shooting your own guy, so colour me fucking suspicious. Tell me, now, what is going on. Who was that on the phone?”

“That was Malkin.”

“As in Geno?”

“They’re sending us help.”

“They?”

“Pittsburgh, but apparently he’s got the message to some of the other Families. He’s arranged a pick-up. We have to get to this spot in one piece and we might make it out of here.”

“What has Geno got to do with this?”

“I’m explaining this once. Listen and don’t interrupt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad, Yanni seems such a nice guy IRL haha.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gun violence. Also apologies that this is so long but felt it couldn't be cut into two!

Barkov parked around the back of a warehouse in a cluster of dilapidated buildings and some tragically dishevelled houses not far from the freeway. They’d kept Kucherov’s car off their tail, but Aleksander took an extra hour to take the most circuitous route to their destination.

Over their shoulders a flyover bridge carried an endless flow of traffic over the town - if you could call it that - in a woven ribbon of red and white lights. It was getting dark and the scrubland at the back of the warehouse sang with the dusk chorus of insects, bats and the occasional swish of a larger predator.

It could have been the exact same place from where Tyler had fled. Abandoned, stinking of oil and the sweat of a workforce long gone.

Barkov was focussed and silent. They’d not said a word to one another after he had explained what had led them to this point. Tyler didn’t blame the guy. There was a lot jumbling around in that head, a lot of escape points and failsafes struggling for priority. This was someone who’d been ready to run for a while, and now the trigger had been pulled he didn’t have the luxury of making a mistake. Neither of them did.

Tyler helped Barkov pull a dusty tarp across the car then followed him into the warehouse opened up by a key Barkov produced from a locksafe under the driver’s seat. He led Tyler to the offices where once managers had overseen what went on in the bowels of the building. The offices were internal with no windows to the outside. Tyler felt his heart rate begin to mellow out, just a little.

“Where are we? Is this where we meet Pittsburgh?”

“This is as far out of Florida’s reach we can get whilst still in the state. Pittsburgh say they can get us from here.”

“Did Geno say who is coming for us?”

“No. I don’t think he knows. He is still in the meeting, in Boston.”

“Fucking Chara,” Tyler said, lowering himself unsteadily into a desk chair. A rush of mould and damp stink sprang up from the padding but he didn’t care. “Trying to get Montreal on board. Always trying to do deals. He’s meant to be retired. And what does he want Montreal to do for Boston? They might be a legacy but they’re failing something bad. No other Family goes after their neighbour that much unless they’re struggling, and those guys can’t leave Toronto alone right now.”

“Are you always working?”

“Just saying,” Tyler croaked with a shrug of his shoulders.

Barkov punched a whole in the flimsy plasterboard and his fist snatched at a bag inside the wall. He pulled the duffel bag out and threw it onto the desk in front of Tyler.

“Put the gun and money in there.”

Tyler stuffed the items inside the bag he’d brought from under the passenger seat. He caught sight of a bottle of water in the new bag. He cracked it open desperately.

“Jesus,” he gasped after gulping the entire thing in one go. “I needed that.”

Barkov took one himself and did the same thing.

“Did Geno give a time?”

“No.”

“And you’re sure Trocheck can’t find us here?”

Barkov had come to a stop in the middle of the room, his eyes on the glass at the back of the office that had once allowed the bosses to keep watch over their workers.

“No. I’m not sure of anything with Vincent.”

“Well that’s what happens when you work with a psycho.”

“He won’t let you get away easily. Or me. But he doesn’t know this place. He doesn’t know I’ve been here. We just need to wait, and hope.”

Tyler thought of Jamie. Was he at the meeting? Was he tearing his way down the country to Florida? Or was he still in Dallas with Jordie keeping him under lock and key until this was over?

He also thought of Patrice. About how hurt his old boss would be that Chara had brought in Montreal - because there was simply no way that Bergy would have called Montreal into his state on his own volition. He hoped Brad was there to keep him from doing or saying something he would inevitably regret.

And whilst he was thinking he somehow, still sat in the disgusting desk chair, managed to fall to sleep.

He didn’t know what had woken him when he next came to, suddenly. He lifted his head and the pained muscles in his neck caused him to stifle a yelp. It was impossibly darker in the building now, the sun long gone from the horizon, and the room was only lit by a soft wash of green light from a still functioning fire exit sign.

Barkov was stood in the middle of the room, his arms out from his sides as though he’d paused mid-stride. He had one finger up, telling Tyler to be quiet. He was listening.

Tyler tipped the chair forward and stood, his knees quaking but the spike of fear enough to keep him standing.

They waited.

Tyler couldn’t hear anything except a ragged wheeze in his own chest.

Eventually, he heard it. A car engine.

Barkov must have sensed that he was about to talk - he held up his finger higher, gesturing with his other for Tyler to stay behind the desk. He moved to the door of the office, his footsteps impressively light. They’d left the door partially open and he angled his way through the gap without touching anything.

For a long moment he was gone and Tyler felt alone, unmoored and with his back against the wall, staring desperately in the darkness hoping that Barkov’s shape would reappear.

When he remerged, Tyler’s heart stuttered on a beat. 

“Someone’s here,” Barkov hissed. He yanked open the duffel and gave Tyler a gun. “I heard Kucherov’s voice.”

“Fuck,” Tyler said, mostly to himself. He made sure the gun was loaded and ready, but his hands were ice cold and stiff against the grip. It’d been a long time since he’d held a gun like this, ready to shoot his way out.

He could hear the wheezing in his chest louder now, a phlegmy purr, but he didn’t have the nerve to cough it out with Barkov looking the way he did.

“We need to go somewhere dark in this warehouse where they won’t see us or walk past us. Follow me.”

Tyler did as he was told, skittering along behind Barkov towards the belly of the warehouse.

A door banged far behind them. Tyler tried not to look back at where the noise came from.

They eased their way down a metal staircase to the factory floor. The machinery had mostly been gutted, no doubt the only thing of any worth to sell once this company went bust, but some steel bolts welded into the floor, and protruding turrets of steel that had been melted into the concrete, remained. It meant they had to pick their way carefully in the dark, guiding one another around the obstacles silently towards a far wall.

Barkov sank to a crouch behind the belly of along abandoned machine too big to move, something that looked like it could swallow an entire car.

Barkov pressed his finger to his lips and they waited, both with their guns live in their hands.

Voices rang out from above them, right alongside the door of the office they had been hiding in.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” someone said. Tyler looked across at Barkov and picked out his expression in the gloom. He was pale, and his eyes pinched, like he was in pain. He had his head cocked to listen and Tyler didn’t fail to miss his trigger finger stroking up and down the side of the gun.

A random snippet of clear words floated across to them.

“No lights?”

“No.”

“Work something out.”

There were at least three of them speaking, but Tyler got the impression from the scuffing of shoes that there were more. He daren’t look up, but he followed Barkov’s face as he craned his neck just enough to see to the upper deck.

Once he’d seen what he needed to he crouched lower and held up all of the fingers of his left hand. Five of them. So they were outgunned and outnumbered and Tyler was starting to feel a hideous chill up his back, like a frozen hand crawling up his spine.

Tyler tried to breathe through it. It was just vertigo, he told himself, as the ground appeared to rock beneath him. Stay still. It just didn’t seem to be working.

Barkov gripped his arm like a vice, keeping him up from the floor, stifling any sound as he valiantly tried to keep Tyler’s body up. It wasn’t vertigo, he was actually slumping towards the floor. He knew he had to fight the urge to cough, but something was forcing its way up his throat and he couldn’t stop it. Something dark splattered out from under his tongue and down his chin.

Barkov pulled Tyler into his side, pitching his weight against him. He snatched the gun off Tyler and placed it on the floor at their feet, Tyler too close to dropping it to risk him holding it.

Tyler wasn’t sure what was happening except he was hot down his throat and into his chest, but his back was cold. He wanted to shiver and sweat but he was aware he wasn’t in control of it. The darkness around them seemed thicker than before. That thought bubbled to the surface then floated away, leaving him leaden and sliding down Barkov’s torso.

Warm fingers cupped the side of his head and guided it down to the concrete. He felt a hot palm press against his cheek. Then he was alone.

He tried to breathe and push out the blood without spitting, but his brain was starting to lose the thread. He didn’t know where he was. No, he did. He was back on that mattress in Florida. No, the back of a truck. He was in a back of a truck with his side singing from his rips to his hip. He had a blinding headache and his neck sang from the impact with the dashboard. He could smell the heat of bodies pressed around him as colours began to spring up behind closed eyelids.

He pushed a hand out to get them away and his hand touched something solid and metal. He gripped onto it automatically.

* * *

Jamie could see four of them moving across the warehouse floor, separately, not caring about having one another’s backs. They didn’t need to do much when they found their prey: two bullets, that was it.

They didn’t know they were being hunted by others.

Jamie looked over his shoulder at the group behind him. They were all armed too, clustered at the very front of the warehouse where old loading doors had jammed open just enough to shimmy a human body through. It also offered just enough light to see the men around him. Patrice Bergeron, Brad Marchand, Auston Matthews, Kris Letang, John Klingberg, Mitch Marner, Chris Kreider, and Jordie.

There were more of them working their way in a winding route through the grass to access the back of the warehouse.

Mitch Marner had left Nylander and Kapanen back in Boston to sit in his and Auston’s spots, and chased after his Captain. The guy wasn’t a fan of being left out of the action.

Chris Kreider had come too. Chris had seen Montreal arrive, seen Zdeno Chara let an enemy into their midsts, seen it as an insult to the memory of his fallen Captain who had fought Montreal his whole career. All Chris saw when he closed his eyes now was Lundqvist’s gaping, vacant stare up at the ceiling of his beloved home. Kreider wanted to shed some blood in retaliation. So when Marner had bolted, he’d gone with him, leaving Anders Lee alone in the New York seats trying valiantly not to catch Chara’s furious gaze. Kreider had used the budgets and power at his disposable after the death of Henrik and ordered the weight of New York down to Florida. Many of his men were in the party heading to the back of the warehouse now.

Klingberg had been dispatched from Dallas to meet them at the airstrip where Marc-Andre Fleury had managed, with the wisdom and bank balance of Pittsburgh, to organise a private flight for the men from the meeting. Klinger and the rest of the Dallas Family had met them with their cars and their weapons and divvied out the spoils.

Geno had told them that Barkov was in a safe spot in this warehouse with Tyler. But there was a chance, albeit small, that Florida would have been able to track Barkov there. And if so, the group needed to be ready.

The discovery of cars nestled in the parking lot with their engines running and lights on dispelled all thoughts of a quiet exit. Florida had found the pair, and they weren’t going to get them out of there without a fight.

“Quietly,” Jamie had said, as they’d ditched their vehicles some distance away and started out on foot. “We need the element of surprise. They won’t be expecting Barkov to have us as his back-up.”

And now they were close enough to hear the voices of the men sweeping the warehouse floor. Jamie counted the torch beams. Four.

They were coming towards the front of the building and if they were going to get in there with the element of surprise, it had to be now.

He turned to the men behind him and nodded.

They split off into pairs. They kept low, their footsteps light.

Jamie and Jordie moved down the left side wall, watching the beams slice up the darkness, careful not to get too close.

* * *

Tyler came round with a surge of adrenaline so strong it made his legs kick out. He was awake. He didn’t know how, but he was. He was lying on his side in the dark. A voice was talking nearby.

“I don’t see. Get him to try. Quickly.”

Tyler’s hands clenched, and his fingers curled around something cold. The handle of a gun.

His brain started to tick with information. Barkov. Florida. They’d found them. Florida, Florida, it was Florida. 

_Fuck Florida_, he thought, dragging himself upright. Fuck Florida, fuck this running, this hiding, this fear. There was something dark and warm all down his front, tacky and speckled with dirt against his chin. His mouth tasted like copper. His teeth were gummy with it. He didn’t care.

Fuck Florida, and whatever heinous desire for chaos that made them want to pull the Families back into the dark ages. Fuck them for crashing their car into his in Carolina, for dragging him from the wreckage and torturing him. For dumping him by the side of the road when they ran out of confidence in their mad plan. For living rent free in his head all this time, picking away at his sanity, cajoling demons out of their locked boxes. For casting a shadow over everything and everyone he wanted in his new life in Dallas. 

He hauled himself to his knees, his hands moving on muscle memory to check the gun over. It was still loaded. Barkov had left him tucked away in a hidden corner, and he’d left him with a loaded gun. Where was Barkov? He’d be stalking his Family in the dark, waiting for the right moment.

But Tyler didn’t have the patience to sit and wait, and he wasn’t unconscious anymore. 

He got himself to his feet. He swallowed a groan, gulping down coagulated blood.

The voices nearby were still talking. There was a small square of light coming from their direction. One of them was talking on the phone.

“I don’t know, I don’t know how to work it either. Yeah. Maybe.”

Tyler lifted the gun and fired. There was a wet bang, a high pitched groan, then someone fired back blindly into the darkness, missing Tyler by a good few feet.

And the lights came on.

There was a body slumped on the concrete floor about twenty feet away from Tyler. His companion who had tried to fire back in the dark now stared at Tyler with his eyes blown wide. For a moment he probably thought he’d hit his target - there was blood on the lower half of Tyler’s face, scorched down his neck, soaking the top of his shirt, blacking out his teeth. In the seconds his eyes adapted to the light the guy realised he’d missed. He lifted his gun to take a second shot. Tyler was stunned in the floodlights and his mind had begun to slip through his fingers again. He couldn’t move.

Another shot fired. The second Florida man pitched forward, face first onto the floor.

As he fell he revealed Chris Kreider standing behind him, his gun raised.

“Get down!” someone hollered. Tyler staggered, whatever rush of adrenaline that had got him upright leaving him in a painful swoop.

The gunshots had drawn a crowd from upstairs and they were coming their way. Somewhere over his shoulder, under the high pitched whine of a blown eardrum, Tyler could hear their footsteps flooding down the metal staircase to the floor. They were firing as they went. Firing at Kreider, Brad, Mitch, Jordie. 

Gunshots fired past his shoulder. He didn’t move, couldn’t move. His mind was sticky. How did they get here? Why were they here? Where was Jamie?

Chris jumped forward to reach him, but he was struck in the arm. He went down on one knee.

“Tyler!” someone cried. A familiar voice. So familiar it shocked Tyler’s brain back into life.

“Jamie,” Tyler said on wet, ragged breath. “Jamie.”

Aleksander skidded into view, beating Kreider to Tyler’s side. He caught Tyler round the waist and dragged him down behind a production belt.

“What’s happening?” Tyler gasped out, more blood seeping between his teeth.

“Florida found us. So did our rescue crew,” Barkov said, squeezing Tyler down to the floor. He prised the gun from Tyler’s stiff fingers. “They turned on the lights. We can’t hide. But there are more to help us than I thought. Stay down.”

The gunshots still peppered the air, but it was difficult to know where from. The Florida men had taken shelter behind the stairs and the abandoned bones of machinery under the galley.

“Jamie,” Tyler managed to gasp out.

“He’s here.”

Barkov went up onto one knee and fired at the men he’d once called his Family. Someone cried out in pain.

Tyler’s eyes closed. He couldn’t keep his head straight. Where he was, who he was with.

“Jamie,” he said again. Just a whisper.

“Stay with me Tyler, stay awake.”

Auston joined their sheltered spot, hauling Kreider with him. Chris waved away the Toronto man’s help to let him focus on Tyler.

“Is he shot?” Auston asked Barkov, hands on Tyler’s chest looking for a bullet wound.

“No.”

“But the blood.”

“I don’t know, he keeps bleeding, but he’s not shot.”

“Tyler stay with me bud, open your eyes.”

“Cover me. Matthews, cover me.”

“He’s unconscious, shit.”

“Cover me, I have to reload!”

Auston lifted his gun and fired three times in the general direction of the Florida men. He heard a hiss as someone was clipped with a bullet.

“What do we do now?”

“Trocheck is here. We take Trocheck out, the others will be done. We need more back up.”

“More are coming around the back of the building, any minute. Tyler, Tyler, shit, wake up.”

* * *

Jamie recoiled as a bullet bit into the metal frame right by his head.

“I saw him. He was bleeding. Jordie, he’s going to die if we don’t get him out of here soon.”

“We’re all going to die if we don’t get out of here soon. There’s more of them than I thought.”

“Where are the guys who went around the back?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t know much longer we can wait. Where did Tyler go?”

“He’s with Barkov, Matthews and Kreider, over there in the middle of the room. Where’s Patrice?”

“I don’t know. Brad’s on our right. Cover me, I need to reload.”

“We need to find Trocheck. We can’t let him get away.”

“He was at the top of the stairs but I can’t see him anymore.”

Kris scrambled up alongside them keeping low to the floor. “They’ve made it round the back, I just got a call from Pastrnak. They want a signal from us to go in. Pin them on the warehouse floor, don’t let them escape, then I’ll call him back.”

“Was it Florida that turned the lights on?”

“Pastrnak caught two of them at a fuse box turning on backup generators.”

Kris didn’t even flinch as a bullet blew out a chunk of wall just over his head.

“Where is Patrice?”

“We don’t know.”

Kris whipped his head around to try and spot the Boston Captain.

“I don’t trust that man on his own,” Kris growled, and then he was gone.

Jamie knew the moment that Kris made the call, because all hell broke loose. The second party had taken out the bulk of the Florida men on their way in, and were already sprayed with blood and bleeding themselves. Jamie watched as Brady Skjei dumped a clip into a Florida man as he tried to climb up the stairs towards him. He gave the body an unceremonious kick as he stepped over him. 

There was a scuffle in the middle of the room. The Florida men froze, guns raised, and slowly the others in the warehouse did the same.

It was Trocheck. He’d found Tyler. Jamie made to launch himself across the room but Jordie wrestled him back.

“Don’t, don’t.”

“Let me go.”

He almost broke free, his fear for Tyler straining against Jordie’s fear for his brother, when Trocheck fired two bullets into the concrete beneath his feet. The room fell silent and the Family men on the stairs paused. The Florida soldiers recoiled back quietly, their eyes on their leader. There weren’t many of them left now. Their guns were near to empty. They knew that their hopes were dependent on Trocheck’s prey sprawled on the floor in front of him.

Auston and Kreider had tried to put himself between Trocheck and the pair, but their clips were empty and Kreider’s torso was slick with blood from the wound in his arm. Auston gently pushed Chris behind him and watched as Trocheck lifted his firearm to aim it at his forehead.

“Step back.”

Auston raised his hands and stepped back away from the machinery, Kreider stumbling behind him. Jamie pinned his stare to Tyler, unconscious at Trocheck’s feet, willing him to hold on.

Trocheck waited for Auston to be suitably distanced before moving the focus of his gun to Barkov. He looked at him steadily, his expression almost one of curiosity. Barkov was crouched on the tarmac, his hands raised over Tyler. He’d dropped his long-empty gun.

“How do you think you’re going to get out of this, Trocheck?” Brad asked from across the room, his voice surprisingly even across the warehouse floor.

“I’ve got out of worse,” Trocheck said, not looking at Brad. His eyes were foggy but his stance was rigid and his finger on the trigger unwavering. “And I have a couple of nice tickets right here.”

“This ends here. You’ve tried your best, but you can’t take every Family down.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t care about this one so much would you though?” Trocheck barrelled on, as though he hadn’t heard Brad. Jamie’s body was in suspended animation, his mind laser focused on Tyler’s back, the only part of his boyfriend he could see. His eyes watered as he stared, trying to find movement, begging Tyler to just take a deep breath.

Trocheck jerked the gun where it was pointed to Barkov. Aleksander didn’t flinch. “He’s not as important to you. But he was important to us. You betrayed us, Barkov.”

Aleksander shook his head slowly. “You betrayed all of us. You betrayed Florida. Everything we’d built, the Family we had. You killed it all.”

“It didn’t deserve to live. They turned it into something powerless, something pathetic and _nothing_. And we became it too. Our Families, all of them, used to be something feared. We controlled, we were respected. We changed elections, we ruled police departments, we did what we wanted. Look what happened to us. They broke Florida, they sucked it under and let it die. I am bringing it back to life. That was what I promised to do.” The gun jerked again. “That was what you promised to do with me.”

Barkov looked back at Vincent, unflinching.

“Kucherov told me not to trust you. You went missing too long, he said. You could have done anything in that time, you didn’t come back to Florida quick enough. But I trusted you. I thought you believed what I believed in.”

“I believed in Florida. And you are the opposite of everything Florida was.”

“I trusted you.” Trocheck repeated. The gun was beginning to waver. “You think any of these Families are going to take you in and trust you after this? You’ve only got us Alex. We were all you ever had, we were your family in every way. Where are you going to go now?”

“Trocheck put that down and tell your guys to do the same,” Brad said. “Just put the fucking gun down and stop.”

Trocheck swung his head to Brad like a cobra spotting its prey.

“Or what?”

“There are more of us than there are of you. Don’t fire again and we won’t kill any more of you. This has got to stop.”

“This stops when I stop.”

The lights went out in the blink of an eye. A panicked silence fell as everyone scuttled back for cover, unable to see what their enemies were doing. Somewhere over Jamie’s shoulder he could hear David Pastrnak down Letang’s phone.

“They got to the generator! Wait!”

There was the sound of tinny far off gun fire, echoed in the darkness somewhere through the thick warehouse walls to their left.

“Kucherov is dead,” Pastrnak said over the speaker, just as the lights came back on.

Jamie didn’t care who was dead, he had to get to Tyler. Trocheck had disappeared in the moments the lights were off, but Barkov was still there. He’d thrown his body over Tyler’s, and he was shaking him.

When Jamie reached them Barkov looked up, wild, his hands covered in blood.

“He’s not shot but he’s been bleeding out this whole time, I don’t know why.”

Brad came up to them with his gun ready but his eyes on Tyler.

“I’ll watch your back, take him.”

Jamie hauled Tyler up and into his arms and turned his back to the chaos, trusting Brad and Kreider - holding his bleeding arm but gun still firmly raised - to protect them both.

They passed Jordie at the door.

“Ben’s waiting on the plane for you. He knows you’re on your way.” Jordie’s eyes looked down at Tyler, briefly, his expression steely. “Put your foot down.”

Kris snagged Brad on the arm as he tried to leave. “Where’s Patrice?”

“I don’t know.”

Kris dug his fingers in. The two men were close enough to see the whites of their eyes had turned red.

“Where is your Captain?”

“Shooting at Florida, like the rest of us are. Get off me.”

Kris’s grip loosened a fraction and Brad ripped his arm out, setting off after Jamie and Kreider.

Kris shouted something at his back. Brad chose not to hear it. 

* * *

The warehouse's men's bathrooms had not been much in the heyday, and now they were desolate. The stalls had been ripped out, leaving three toilets and their cisterns looking naked against the far wall. A rat had drowned in one of them, but the water had long since disappeared.

The door going in looked exactly like every other door in the godforsaken building. Patrice could see why Trocheck would have chosen it, hidden down the end of the corridor, furthest away from the gunfire and his men fleeing for their lives.

Trocheck stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, looking at the small windows that were meant to open from the outside to reveal his escape. At least, that was what Patrice expected. He didn’t know for sure what sort of plan Vincent Trocheck had cooked up with his followers as he’d stalked his former right hand man to Florida to this warehouse. He’d no doubt expected to find a cowering Barkov with a drugged up Tyler in tow. These restrooms faced onto the back parking lot where the Florida men had rolled up in their vehicles. Where Kucherov had been hiding and waiting, fingers itching to extract his boss from the melee. Where Kucherov had tried to put the cards in his Family’s favour by playing with the back up generator. Trocheck probably thought that if nothing else was going to go right today then his closest and most loyal follower would still be there to drag him out.

But again, that was just a guess. Who knew what Vincent Trocheck was truly thinking as he stared at the mottled glass, completely still, even as he became aware of another presence entering the room.

Behind them the warehouse was falling from gunfire and into shouting, questions and commands firing off across the space instead of bullets.

Trocheck finally turned around and looked at Patrice, right in the eye, the parking lot through the windows over his shoulder ominously quiet. Kucherov wasn’t coming for him. No-one was coming for him. He didn’t look at the gun Patrice had raised toward him, but at Patrice himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Patrice. I died years ago.”


	38. Chapter 38

Jamie lifted his hand and ghosted his thumb down Tyler’s cheek. He told him something, something quiet in the inches between them. Patrice didn’t need to be a lip reader to understand the last part. _I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tyler_.

And Tyler’s response. _It’s not your fault. _

Tyler turned his face so that Jamie’s hand cupped his cheek fully. Jamie leant forward and kissed him gently. He was braced over the edge of the bed and his other hand dropped to Tyler’s arm and squeezed.

Patrice took a step back as a nurse hustled passed. She gave him a look but didn’t ask anything. It wasn’t until she was gone that he realised two hot tracks of tears had rolled down his face. He scrubbed them away, because he had to get through this and crying was not in the plan. He had to pick his moment, and he knew he had a small window. He was prepared to wait, but there was only so long he could lurk in a corridor at this Dallas hospital when he was supposed to be back in Boston debriefing the Family and dealing with difficult conversations. 

In the room in front of him Jamie stood up. He kissed Tyler one more time on the forehead and then turned to the door. Patrice was already gone, around the corner with his back firmly pressed against the wall. He listened to Tyler’s door shut and footsteps fade away.

He came back around the corner and opened the door before he could stop himself.

Tyler looked up from the bed in open-mouthed surprise.

“Patrice.”

“Hi,” Patrice said. He felt awkward, invading. This was a bad idea. He shut the door behind him.

“You just missed Jamie,” Tyler said as the silence stretched on.

“I wasn’t here to see Jamie.”

“Oh.”

Tyler pushed himself up higher on the pillows. Patrice could see that it hurt. He moved forward and helped him with another pillow down his back. It brought them within inches of each other. He drew back a little and gave Tyler what he hoped was a firm smile.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m good,” Tyler said after a moment. He alternated between smoothing out the sheets over his legs and looking up at Patrice with an expression that was nervous, raw. “Well, getting better.”

“What was the damage?”

“Dehydration, a concussion, a few broken bones. Another hairline fracture on my pelvis to match the last one they gave me. A punctured lung.”

Patrice’s eyes went to the bulk of padding underneath Tyler’s hospital gown on the left side.

“So that explains all that…” Patrice waved his hand over his chin.

“All that blood coming out my mouth? Yeah, that was it. Broke a rib, punctured a lung, internal bleeding. The whole shebang.”

“And they fixed it?”

“Yeah, I’m all patched up. Breathing normally again.”

Patrice nodded. “You did well.”

Tyler laughed humourlessly. “Yeah, second time’s a charm. Hey, how’s Sid?”

“Doing OK, last I heard. It sounds like he’s doing better than expected.”

“I’m not surprised. That guy doesn’t like being told no.”

They both chuckled. Patrice liked seeing some actual warmth in Tyler’s smile. He resisted the urge to lower himself onto the bed next to him. He cleared his throat and tried his best to start what he wanted to say.

“Patrice, don’t,” Tyler said instead. His eyes looked dangerously wet. “Please, just don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say you’re sorry for anything. For not getting me out the first time, for sending me to Dallas.”

“I need to explain it at least.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t need to.”

Patrice shook his head. “I’m still sorry for a lot of things, Tyler. I should have seen what everyone else saw, what you and Brad told me. I was too focussed on politics. I didn’t do what needed to be done. And then after all that I…gave up on you. In a lot of ways.”

“No, you didn’t. I thought when I got to Dallas I was going to break in half, that I couldn’t do it. But then all I ever heard from people was that they were pleased for me. They thought I could finally be who I wanted to be, do what I wanted to do. I thought it was bullshit at first, but they were right. You were right. Jamie was right. Dallas was the best place for me, _is _the best place. Better than Boston. It just took me such a long time to work it out, but I know it now. And Jamie.” Tyler stopped and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t have found Jamie if I hadn’t gone to Dallas. I’m sorry if that pisses you off.”

“No,” Patrice said, reaching for Tyler’s hand and taking it in his own. “No, Tyler, that’s not…that’s what I wanted to say. I should have said it at the time, but I wasn’t sending you away. I didn’t want you to go, I just couldn’t keep you safe in Boston. Or happy. Seeing you with Jamie, it’s exactly what I wanted, that you found a new home. We were never going to be that. No matter how much we both wanted it. This job, my job, Boston, _me. _All those things stood in our way.”

“We could have moved them,” Tyler said. His voice caught and his eyes sprung wet with tears that he seemed determined to not let fall.

“I know. But we didn’t. That means something. If we were meant to, we would have done it.”

Tyler nodded, one single tear falling unbidden. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Patrice lifted a hand and swiped at the tear with his thumb. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“I do. I knew before you did.”

They both laughed wetly. “Yeah, I’m sure you did.”

“I love you too,” Tyler said. He leant forward and kissed Patrice softly, briefly, on the lips. Patrice squeezed his hand and pulled away.

“I know you do. I’m happy you found Jamie.”

“I am too,” Tyler said, with a defiant rise to his chin.

“You two are going to make Dallas shine. And you’ll have each other. Remember that, Tyler.” Patrice squeezed Tyler’s hand again, harder this time. “This job, you won’t have it forever. It dies, and you’re lucky if you don’t die with it. And what you’ve got afterwards, that’s what matters. If you want Jamie to be there after it’s gone, remember that.”

Tyler flung his arms forward and around Patrice’s shoulders. Patrice breathed him in, that smell of Tyler that he’d gone without for so long, a smell that had always had the thrill of arousal and the comfort of home all at once. And then Tyler’s whispered voice in his ear, barely loud enough to hear.

“I know you killed Trocheck. Thank you.”

Patrice swallowed heavily. He squeezed Tyler a little tighter and then they pulled apart. The room came back to them, the bright hospital lights and the beeping of Tyler’s machines.

“I’d better go before Jamie comes back,” Patrice said, clearing his throat.

Tyler promised to keep him and Brad updated on how he did. Brad would be on the first plane out to visit once Tyler got settled back at home, Patrice assured him. He told Tyler he’d better be ready for the Colorado meetings in the next month. Then he said goodbye and left, a space in his chest cold and hot all at once.

Jamie swung back into the room a few minutes later brandishing two coffees.

“OK before you ask this second one isn’t for you, it’s for Jordie, he’s on his- wait, Tyler, what’s wrong?”

Jamie scuttled the two takeaway coffee cups onto the side table and folded himself onto the bed.

“What happened? Are you ok, do you need me to call the doctor?”

“No,” Tyler said through sobs. “No, I’m fine. Honestly, I’m fine. I’m OK, I’m OK.”

“Why are you crying?”

Tyler pushed Jamie back so he could look him in the eye. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do, I know that Tyler. I love you too. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sniffed and smeared at the tears on his face, drawing himself up in the bed. He swallowed and waited for the final tears to tumble away. Then he took in a deep breath and said. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So…wait, what were you saying? Jordie’s coming over?”

Jamie wasn’t sure what had happened. Why he left Tyler fine and he came back in tears. But it made sense, after all he’d been through. Tyler reached out and squeezed his hand, and saw he saw the pleading in his eyes. He was OK. 

Jamie nodded. “Uh, yeah, he’s coming over any minute now. He’s bringing Rads, the guy’s been going crazy. If I didn’t let him come he’d probably get up on the roof and rappel into your window.”

Tyler encouraged him to talk. About how the guys were doing, the stupid stuff that had happened in Dallas in his absence. How Klingberg had taken Marshall on his walks and met his usual doggy friends at the park, which led to him meeting a girl, the talk of whom made the pale Swede blush from head to toe. How Dobby had bought a hideous and expensive new tracksuit in forest green, apparently in celebration of Tyler’s return, only for Bish to tell him he looked like the Jolly Green Giant.

When Radulov and Jordie turned up they stayed way past the allowed visitor’s hours and bribed the nurse to let them stay even longer.

Tyler went to sleep that night to a story of Radulov and Dobby causing trouble in St Louis, tucked under Jamie’s arm. When the Russians left with Jordie, Jamie stayed where he was, feeling Tyler against him. He was warm, and breathing evenly, fast asleep. He trusted Jamie to guard him against the world outside the door. Jamie pressed a kiss to the top of his head and traced a thumb over the tattoo on his arm. Jamie didn’t sleep that night, but he didn’t care. Tyler was content and heavy against him. There was nothing more that he wanted.

* * *

“Ow.”

“Just lean on me.”

“I am but your hip is in my ribs, shit, ow.”

“Sorry, sorry. Here.”

“Jamie, what the fuck!”

Jordie opened the front door of his and his brother’s home to reveal Tyler being carried bridal-style in Jamie’s arms. He narrowed his eyes at the pair.

“You two didn’t get married between checking him out the hospital and getting here did you?”

“We saw you at the hospital half an hour ago, how would we have managed that? This is the only way I can help him inside.”

“Jamie’s just being dramatic,” Tyler said on a sigh, as though he wasn’t absolutely loving being swept off his feet. He threw his arms around Jamie’s neck and clung there with a smug smile. Jordie moved to the side and Jamie carried Tyler in to the couch. With a lot of complaining and adjusting he finally managed to lay him down in a position that didn’t hurt Tyler’s ribs or his pelvis.

“That’s my workout for the day,” Jamie said as he flopped on the couch next to him and let Tyler place his cheek on his thigh.

“Better get back in the gym, because that’s my favourite mode of transport now.”

Jamie caught Tyler wincing as he settled.

“You OK?” he asked softly, pulling Tyler’s hair back from his face with the palm of his hand.

“Yeah. Everything hurts. But I’m fine. Hey did anyone find my phone?”

Jamie’s chest tightened at the memory of Tyler’s cracked phone in Klingberg’s hand the day he was attacked.

“Broken. Got the memory card out though with your photos. Contacts weren’t backed up.”

“Shit. I don’t think I can remember most of those numbers.”

“A lot of people have been messaging Jordie to get a hold of you.”

Jordie sank onto the opposite end of the couch. He waved his phone. “I don’t know how everyone got my number, but you’ve got messages from all over North America. I don’t know who they’re from because no-one signed off any of them.”

Tyler reached out his hand and took the phone. He read the messages quietly to himself, tilting the phone just enough that Jamie couldn’t read them himself.

“Anything interesting?”

“We should go back to Washington soon,” Tyler said, prodding at the screen. “Apparently Oshie’s got some good business for us.”

“People are sending you stuff about work? No, no, that’s banned.”

Jamie snatched the phone from Tyler’s hand. Tyler tried to snap after it but his reflexes were woefully dulled.

“I promise I won’t work, I just want to read them!”

“You were halfway through typing a message back to him! _Thanks Osh, you know nothing can kill me. We can do the half now if you get prices from Ovi. _Jesus, Tyler.”

“What? They’ve got good stuff, it’d be better if we opened up that channel with Washington rather than letting everything get funnelled through Pittsburgh.”

“Deleted.”

“Jamie, no!”

Jamie batted Tyler’s hands away and grabbed his skinny wrists in one of his giant palms.

“Shut up. I’m reading just the well wishes, everything else is getting deleted. And you’re not getting a new phone until you’ve had some time off. Jordie, block every number that comes through unless it’s his Mum or his sisters.”

“I hate you,” Tyler groaned. “Fuck, I feel breathless. Let me put my arms down.”

Jamie lowered his wrists to Tyler’s chest, but still held onto them with one hand. The hand took up a softy rocking rhythm, so that the three hands combined massaged Tyler’s sternum gently. Tyler’s eyes fluttered a little.

“I’m going to read them out one by one. You’ll have to work out who they’re from that way.”

“Fine.”

Jamie peered at the screen and slightly regretted this plan. He wasn’t the best at reading out loud, and no-one in the Family had what you would call stellar grammar.

_“Heard they still can’t kill you. You’re a cockroach. When you’re back on your feet call me there’s still sixty kilos to get rid of.”_

“Oh, that’s Mitchy. That’s the deal we did in Toronto.”

“He slipped work in at the end. Stop thinking about it, I can hear your brain working. The next one is: _Hope you’re doing OK Seggy, gave us all a fright. Call me when you can. Stay strong._’”

“Does the number end four-two?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Morgan Rielly.”

“The next one says _I took a bullet for you and you won’t return my calls? _I’ll take a guess here and say that’s Chris Kreider.”

“What, he took a bullet for me?”

“In the arm, he was fine. Bish was busy dealing with you on the plane so Marchand had to dig the bullet out of his bicep.”

“Geez. Well, write back and tell him I owe him a visit to New York and a drink.”

“_I hope Florida are well and truly dead this time they deserve it. Get better soon man come to Nashville when you can. _That must be Subban. The next one just says _You asshole._”

“Too many possibilities. Next one.”

“_Heard Trocheck took a bullet, got what’s coming to him. Get better soon, come to Chicago when you can Tyler. _That’s not Toews is it?”

“No, it’ll be Patrick Sharp.”

“This one says _Tyler, I hope you recover soon. Lets get a drink together when you come to Boston next time. I need to learn all of Marchy’s secrets._”

“Probably David Pastrnak.”

They carried on like that for half an hour - Jamie reading the anonymous messages of support, avoiding the ones that swerved too close to sounding like work, and Tyler guessed who’d sent each. They came from all over America and Canada, all over the Family network and from Tyler’s close friends from back home. Some were brief and blasé, others were long and worried. All together they took Jamie’s breath away with the reach his boyfriend had around a violent, argumentative network that was so big it almost became infinite. He felt that awe he’d felt the very first time he’d seen Tyler so smoothly assess the situation between Ovechkin and Malkin as it had unfolded in front of them at the wedding. It’d been the same feeling he’d carried around with him all the years since - when Tyler was on the other side of the table, when Boston tore up the country looking for him the first time Florida snatched him, when Tyler first arrived in his home and threw his attitude at Jamie across the room, when Tyler looked over at him in that moment before they kissed for the first time.

Soon Tyler’s voice was getting heavy, and eventually he stopped answering. Jamie looked up at Jordie and his brother nodded his head.

“He’s asleep.”

Jamie handed his phone back over, careful not to disturb Tyler on his lap. At some point he’d let go of Tyler’s wrists and his fingers had woven in with Tyler’s instead, but they still remained a heavy tangle on his chest.

“You’ll struggle keeping him off work,” Jordie said, watching Tyler’s chest rise and fall beneath their hands.

“Yeah,” Jamie said with a little huff of laughter. “You’re going to have to help me. I know you got him the new phone but seriously, don’t give it to him yet. He needs to rest.”

“I don’t think the guy’s had a week off since the last time he was in hospital.”

“Well, he’s getting one now whether he wants it or not.”

Jordie pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. “I don’t know if this whole thing aged me about ten years or I’m just an old man. But I fucking ache, everywhere. I’m going to have a bath.”

“Alright.”

“Bish should be here in about an hour. You’re stuck there until then I think.”

“I think I might sleep as well,” Jamie said through a yawn as Jordie headed off.

He thought Jordie was gone, but suddenly he was at the back of the couch, standing right behind him. Before Jamie could turn to look at him, Jordie placed his hand on the side of Jamie’s neck. He squeezed for a second and then he planted a rough kiss, right in Jamie’s matted thatch of hair that he hadn’t had a chance to wash in over a week. It was only brief, and then he was off to run his bath. But Jamie felt it long after his brother was gone. The feel of his brother’s hand against his skin, the touch of him on the top of his head, everything he said in that small gesture. Jamie ended up drifting off on the couch, Tyler on his lap, and the house at peace around him for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed that I've shaved this down to 39 chapters instead of 40. Even though that goes against my love of round, even numbers, it had to be done. The previous chapter in the warehouse was meant to be two but I felt splitting it up ruined the flow and rhythm.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with me everyone! I've so, so enjoyed writing this. This is the biggest fic I've managed to write and I am so pleased with it. I've already got other Family stories sketched out, some one-shots but also other multi-chapters. Hopefully it won't be long until I can get at least one of those published as well! I've loved all of your comments, thank you for the kind words.

_Go tell that long tongue liar_

_Go tell that midnight rider_

_Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter,_

_Tell them that God’s gonna cut ‘em down. _

EPILOGUE 

Geno had a list of his favourite memories of Sid. He turned them over in his mind on the worst days, or even just the boring ones with nothing else to do. Many involved Sid turning his smile to him - whether it was the day he told Geno he loved him, the day they married, or the hundreds of days before and after all of those that weren’t special, but just were. There was something about Sid’s smile, the one that Geno knew so well but many people never got to see, that made him lighter when he saw it.

And now he had another one to add to his list. The first time Sid smiled at him from his hospital bed.

After weeks of nothing but his face slack with sleep, then stoney with the affect of drugs, then blank as he looked at the faces of those around his bed and his brain tried to work through the damage. Finally, a smile.

Geno had been leaning over the bed, pushing his hair back, unable to sleep. The reclining chair in the corner of the room was covered in rumpled sheets from his attempts at nodding off, but he couldn’t manage it. He was sure deep down he’d wanted to wake Sid, which was a selfish thing to do, but hey. It was dark and the hospital was quiet. Who would know?

Sid looked around the room, slow to react and take in his surrounding as always. He had yet to speak a word, just stared sometimes unseeingly at them all, lost in the mess that was his head.

He turned his face up to Geno, and that foreign look of detachment was still clouding his features. The doctors had told him it was clear Sid had some sense of understanding when he saw his loved ones, but it was hard for his husband to see that. This wasn’t his Sid, with his sharp eye and quick mind. But he’d believed the doctors, put his faith in the men and women that had got him to his point and told him that a full recovery was on the cards if they worked hard, were patient and had faith.

Tonight though, Sid looked up and after a moment of blank searching of what was in front of him, slowly smiled. It was a little dazed, and drugged, and his eyes slipped around Geno’s face unsteadily. But it was there. A warm smile, not very big. But happy. He closed his eyes and put his head back against the pillow and went back to sleep, and Geno cried silently against his husband’s chest.

* * *

Jonathan winced as he reached for the chopsticks. Seabrook, without looking away from his own meal, lifted them from the centre of the table and passed them to Jonathan wordlessly.

Johnny took them gratefully and settled back in his seat. He hurt, everywhere. He had a high dosage of painkillers sat next to his plate of Thai takeout, and he desperately needed to take them.

It was just him and Seabrook tonight. Like a lot of nights. Two veterans, bitter and hollowed out after all these years on the job, tucking into the worst kind of food that Johnny could imagine. He usually only let a take-out past his lips a couple of times a year. Now the shit with Florida was sorted, and his mind was clearer, but his body hadn’t got the memo. Funnelling crappy MSG into it made him feel better than his usual tofu sausages and cauliflower steaks.

“You know what word I never want to hear again?” Seabrook asked, washing down some dim sum with his scotch.

“Florida?”

“Yeah. Florida. Although speaking of which, I forgot to give you this.”

Seabrook stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers and headed to the bookshelf at the very end of the Chicago Family boardroom. Outside the windows Chicago didn’t sleep, simply rested and waited for the sun to come and another barn-storming day to begin. Johnny could have had this meeting in his house, but he now felt alone in those four walls in a way he’d never experienced before.

Seabrook planted a heavy wooden box in front of Toews, just next to his food so that he almost crushed his pills. Toews knocked back the painkillers and then sat up straight in his chair to peer through the glass front of the box.

“What’s this?”

“Present from Jack Eichel.”

He slid open the translucent glass and revealed two bottles of Johnny’s favourite whisky, which also happened to be one of the most expensive out there. The bottles were nestled in satin, but otherwise the box was empty.

“Was there a note?”

“Something about recovering well and hope there was no hard feelings about what happened in Buffalo.”

“Jesus, I keep telling the guy, it wasn’t anything to do with Buffalo. It was-”

“Florida? Yeah. Told Jack that myself only yesterday, but he still insisted on an apology gift. Hell, if it weren’t for his men jumping in we might not have made it through that attack. It’s a miracle no-one died. We should be sending him something.”

Jonny slid the glass into place.

“When I can drink again, I’ll have the guys over and we can break into it.”

“Are you really going to start working on Monday, Tazer?” Seabrook asked, now lounging back in his chair.

“Why?”

“You got sliced open through pretty much every limb. Florida are dead. Take a bit of time off.”

“I’ve already taken too much off. Life goes on. Florida were our most current problem, but they weren’t our biggest.”

“No,” Seabrook sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“It’s time to get back to business.”

* * *

Giroux put his spoon down and let out a disgusted ‘ugh’.

“You OK?” Travis asked, nearly giving himself whiplash looking up to his boss. “You need anything? Another one? A drink?”

“No,” Claude growled, waving at Travis to back off. “I’m just sick of only being able to eat this goddam baby food.”

“Next time, don’t get poisoned,” Nolan intoned. He was tapping away at his phone with his back angled against the fridge whilst TK fussed over their Captain. In the living room Voráček let out a bark of laughter.

“Say that to me one more time and I will shoot you,” Claude said with almost no heat. Nolan didn’t even look up from his phone. They stayed like that in silence for a while. Nolan typing, Voráček watching TV, Claude glaring at his hospital approved dinner, TK watching Claude and drumming his fingers on the marble.

Claude’s phone began to ran on the counter between then.

“Who is it?” Claude snapped, his eyes clamped closed to keep nausea at bay.

“It’s the old ball and chain. Balls and chain! That’s a good one, I like that. Don’t tell him I said that, I want him to hear me say it to you some time.”

Claude jerked his hand in the phone’s direction and TK picked it up.

“Hey…No he’s fine, he’s just trying to eat something…I don’t know, whenever he’s done here…Yeah, I know…I know…I will…Bye.” Travis hung up and sheepishly placed the phone a little closer to his boss. “G, you’re going to have to go home soon. He doesn’t sound happy.”

“I have work to do,” Claude gritted out through cramping waves of pain.

“You promised him only two hours of work, and you had to do them in your home office.”

“Teeks, shut the fuck up. I get enough of this at home.”

“The doctor told you to rest,” Travis added, because he couldn’t help himself.

“This _is _resting, I’m not doing anything.”

“Then why are we here?”

‘Here’ was the loft Giroux had right in the heart of Philadelphia. It was essentially his Family office but with all the comforts of a fridge, a large couch and a flat screen TV. There was also a couple of rooms for the senior guys to take when they needed. Either because they hated their own shitty apartments, they’d fallen out with their other halves, or they’d enjoyed themselves a little too much at the bars downstairs. Giroux owned those bars, and on an evening like this if he wasn’t working hard up in the office then he would be down there, keeping an eye on things, meeting who he needed to meet.

But work had stalled. He’d nearly died. They’d buried Wayne. And though he liked to pretend that things could get back to normal, it was moving slow as molasses and all in the wrong direction.

“We’re here because we needed to talk about how we sort this mess out. And I can’t talk about work at home.”

“We’ve had the conversation,” Voráček said. “Just go home, G.”

Giroux shook his head and finally forced his tired eyes open. “Haven’t covered one thing yet. And I can’t talk about it at home because he might hear.”

Jakub turned away from the TV and Nolan looked up from his phone.

“Yeah?” Voráček asked slowly, his eyes moving between Giroux’s personal cell and his boss.

Travis had a little crease of a frown between his eyebrows. “Everything OK?”

“I need to start thinking about something I should have considered a long time ago. TK, you still know some of those guys you served with who went into personal protection?”

“Er, yeah, I do. I can give them a call if you want. Not for you though, right?”

“I got you two idiots for that, and I already pay you too much considering you let me get poisoned. Give them a call, ask them if they know of anyone. Voráček, get the thing going once he’s got some names. Our enemies can fuck with me all they want. But next time they might not come at me to make their point.”

TK went off to make a few phone calls, Nolan loping after him. Voráček moved across the room, came to a stop right next to where his boss was bracing himself against the marble, got all up in his personal space. He rested back against the island and Claude gave him a look.

“What?”

“You really that worried about it to hire a bodyguard?”

“You don’t think I should be worried?”

“I think you should be shitting yourself, but I have for years. _You_ never have. Why now?”

“You mean aside from the attempt on my life and Wayne dying?”

“Yes. Aside from that.”

Claude checked, but TK and Nolan were still out of the room.

“I don’t know. But I’m shitting myself now, let’s just say that. I’m fucking terrified.”

Voráček took that in for a moment, his face unreadable.

“Anything specific I should know about?”

“No.” Claude ground his teeth. “Just…pick someone good, OK? I trust you to choose someone, or a team or whatever. I don’t care how long it takes, I want to get this right.”

Voráček was growing his beard without any attempt at grooming or maintaining it. He looked like a red headed mountain man, long cut off from civilisation in some snowy wilderness. And yes, he was fucking mad as a box of frogs and Claude knew his moral compass pointed further off the map than anyone else in his Family, possibly more than anybody from here to his birthplace in the wilds of the Czech Republic. But Claude trusted this man with his life, and others' too. He had to.

“You’d tell me if something else was going on, wouldn’t you?” Voráček asked after a long silence.

“Do I ever lie to you?”

“All the time. Except normally I can see through you.”

“You can’t now?”

“No.”

Claude flashed him a smile, all teeth. “You’re getting soft in your old age. Just do it, will you? And God, tell Konecny to get me my painkillers. I need to swallow half the bottle of them, then I can go home.”

* * *

Chris Kreider was up late. The only light in his office was the small lamp over his desk. Outside the windows the jungle that was New York was lit up enough that there wasn’t much need for anything else. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on what was in front of him again. He was pretty sure this document was written in English, but he still had absolutely no idea what it meant.

There was a knock at the door and Brady leant his head in.

“Lee is here.”

Chris screwed his mouth up.

“I know, but he’s insisting.”

“Fine, I guess I can take a break.”

“Want me to sit in?”

“Don’t worry about it, just send him in. I don’t have time to listen to him whine for long.”

Chris went back to the documents and didn’t look up when Lee entered the room.

“Can I help you with anything Anders?”

He only glanced up when he realised that Anders wasn’t going to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. In fact Anders was staring down at him, with his usual expression of barely contained disgust. Though it looked sharper this time. Meaner.

“Yes?” Chris asked again, putting his pen down carefully.

“I’ve come to tell you this is over.”

“What’s over?”

“This. Our relationship with New York, your relationship with us.”

Chris straightened up in his chair. “What the hell does that mean?”

Anders was smirking now. “The Islanders are respectfully telling New York to fuck off.”

“You can’t. That’s not the agreement.”

“That’s an agreement we made with Lundqvist. And he’s dead.”

“That doesn’t mean the agreement has changed. We’re still the New York Family, Henrik or not.”

“How _we _see it, is that Henrik was pretty much all the New York Family had to offer. And without him you’re a sinking ship that we refuse to be on board anymore.” Anders let out a huff of laughter through his nose. “Should have agreed on a leader quicker, Kreids. People don’t like power vacuums. You should have stepped up the plate yourself or stepped aside and let someone else do the job.”

“Fuck you, Anders. We’re not going to let you pissants rush us into anything.”

“It’s beside the point. The agreement has sucked our Family dry for years and we don’t believe that with Henrik dead you’ve got the means to hold us to it. The deal is broken. Find yourself a new whipping boy.”

Anders turned on his heel and headed to the door. Chris stood up from his chair, sending it flying back against the wall.

“You’re making a mistake, Anders. Think about it. Doing this could start something neither of our Families are ready for.” Anders ignored him. Chris called his name once and then the Islander was gone, the door firmly shut behind him. Chris’s fingers gripped the lip of his desk. Henrik’s desk.

“Fuck!” he shouted, loud enough to make the pen on the mahogany tremble.

* * *

PK Subban didn’t hear his brother enter, but sensed him after a few moments of him standing quietly, watching PK across the room.

“Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm said lightly, albeit nervously.

“Really?”

“Just…checking up on you.”

PK turned to his brother and gave him the smile he knew his brother wanted to see.

“All good here.”

It was Malcom’s turn to ask: really?

“Yeah kid, I promise you.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

“You are a kid. Compared to me, anyway.”

“Not hard, old man.”

PK chuckled. As Malcolm started to move across the room PK swept his empty glass of whiskey across the table so that it disappeared behind the stack of coffee table books he’d never looked at. It was better for his younger brother not to know how he spent his nights these days, to not discover that this was the only way he could sleep.

“Can’t sleep?” PK asked his brother, before he could ask him.

“Was just about to head to bed, was up to talking to Minnesota.”

“Oh yeah? Anything good?”

“No, as usual.”

Malcolm grabbed the remote and turned on a rerun of a hockey game from the late 80s. The Oilers were lighting up the ice. Malcolm leant back and gave his brother a nudge.

“Hey. Remember playing hockey together back home?”

PK smiled. That was all he could manage, really, because he knew if he opened his mouth his brother would hear it. That grief in his voice, the tone of the loss he’d felt these past few months. Not just for physical places or for friends, but for the life he’d been living, the work he’d been doing. And the worst thing, the one thing that PK didn’t want his brothers or anyone in the Nashville Family to hear.

The truth. The truth that PK wasn’t sure he could live his life this way anymore.

* * *

“We’re broke.”

Gabe dropped the sheet of paper in front of him and rubbed at his mouth, just about avoiding the stretch of bandage across his jawline. The fire was roaring and that was the only light in the darkness of his office. “Or we’re going to be. By the time we’ve paid for everything we need.”

“The hospital bills for everyone are killing us,” Tyson said, shuffling through his own stacks of paper. He was on another armchair across the room, his feet up on the seat of Gabe’s chair, his toes dug underneath his thighs. “The demolition on the building is going to cost us more than re-building the damn thing.”

“We’ve barely got enough to cover the feed bill,” EJ said. He didn’t need the papers, he had the invoice numbers impressed upon his eyelids. “Never mind the vet bills that are going to come in soon.”

“We can’t keep this up. We don’t have any more lines of credit to go to, we’ve run out of assets to draw on, and no-one is giving up the money they owe us.”

“I don’t see enough money coming in for three months at least,” Tyson said, settling his papers on the floor. “Even if the Families do start paying again, that’s not enough.”

“Have you talked to Tyler?”

“You know I have.”

“We need him to say something different next time.”

“He’s doing the best that he can to get us our money.”

“He needs to work harder.”

Tyson gave Gabe a look. Gabe caught his eye, blew out a sigh and dropped the papers to his lap. “OK, fine, I’ll let him do his thing.”

Gabe tilted his head back against the armchair and pressed his fingers against his eyes, just hard enough to hurt. 

“I don’t know how we’re going to get drag ourselves back from this one. There’s so much we need to do, so much I need to get my head around. I just can’t see how we - how I - get us out of it this time.” In the ensuing silence he watched the vibrant kaleidoscope the pressure kicked off behind his eyelids. He heard Tyson shifting around in the armchair opposite him, his toes wriggling under his thigh.

“We’ve done it before Gabe. We’ll do it again,” EJ said finally. It was a voice he’d listened to time and time again, that had guided him through said shit many a time. But now when he thought about the day ahead of them, the day after, the week beyond that, and all he felt was exhaustion. Too much of his body hurt, and he hadn’t let himself acknowledge how much of his pride, his heart, his confidence hurt too.

“Hey,” EJ said gruffly, and Gabe opened up his eyes. He blinked the stars away and focussed on the sharp points of EJ’s face that the firelight showed, his steady gaze. “We do everything together here in Colorado. We enjoyed the good times, and we’ll stick it out in the tough times. That’s what we do. You’ve got all of us behind you, Gabe. Whatever we need to do to get back on track, we do it.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said on a sigh, dragging himself more upright in his chair. “Yeah, I know.”

He put his hand down and found Tyson’s ankle on the chair cushion. He squeezed and felt his ankle bones flex. He looked up to Tyson’s smile, natural and bright. He gave him one in return then lifted his hand and his mind back to the papers.

* * *

Nicklas was sunburnt and refusing to put on aloe. How do you even get this sunburnt in the spring? Nicke will tell you how - your supposed friends let you fall asleep in the full sun and you have the kind of porcelain doll complexion that only suits Sweden and went out of fashion in the 1800s.

“It’ll help!” Ovi said, gesticulating wildly with the bottle. Nicke levelled him a glare across the table.

“No.”

“You are too stubborn,” Ovi said, capping the bottle and sliding it across the surface. “You need it to cool burn. When you can’t sleep tonight, don’t come and cry to me.”

“When do I ever come and cry to you?”

“All the time. Middle of the night, middle of the day, on the phone. All day wah-wah-wah, Ovi, solve my problem Ovi, I should have listened to you, you are always right about everything.”

“I have never said any of that in my life,” Nicke said, trying not to let the twist of a smile on his lips show.

They fell into amicable, if squabbling silence. One of the dogs chose the moment to let something disgusting rip underneath Nicke’s chair. He sighed.

“Did you feed the dogs steak again?”

“No. Never.”

“You do this, and then they fucking smell. Can you smell that? That is your fault.”

“But they love steak so much.”

“Just because someone loves something else doesn’t mean that you have to give it to them. Would you give someone who was allergic to shellfish some shrimp, if they said they loved it?”

“Dogs not _allergic _to steak, it just makes them smell.”

“That smell is because their stomachs are rotting from the inside out. You bought the dogs, the least you can do is try to keep them alive.”

Ovi lifted the front legs of the nearest Labrador onto his lap and cupped his shaggy, doe-eyed face in his hands.

“You spoil them too, when you think I don’t look. I see you.”

Nicke turned to watch Ovi kiss his dog all over his face. “Yes. I’m the problem here.”

They fell back into quiet, and Nicke thought that that was it for the ‘let’s all get at Backy’ show for the night. But Alex, as always, had something else up his sleeve.

“Burky asked about you again.”

Nicke swallowed thickly. He was swallowing down guilt, and words that he didn’t want to come out, and his own hideous stubbornness that Ovi was all too right about.

“I’ll go and visit when I can.”

“When?” Ovi’s voice was light, still cuddling the dog, but there was a tone in there that Nicke recognised. 

“When I can. It’s a little busy around here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You could see him tomorrow. It’s a quiet day.”

“I’ve got so many calls to make.”

“You’ve got too many calls to talk to Burky?”

Nicke sighed through his nose. “Stop it.”

“What?”

“Just say what you want to say.”

“OK. I want to say that I know you hate hospitals but you have to go and see Burky and Kuzy, because we thought they were going to die. They thought they were going to die. And now they need us all to help them get better.”

Nicke fixed his eyes on a point at the bottom of the garden, where the day’s rays seemed to be collecting in the dip in the grass and the foot of the tall trees.

“It’s not…” Nicke started, then stopped, with another little exasperated sigh. It wasn’t that easy, he wanted to say. Because the only way he could fathom walking into the hell hole that was a hospital - to lock himself into those smells and sounds that seemed to exist solely to extract the screams from a part of him he buried years ago - was with Alex by his side. But Alex was shattered, running on fumes. Nicke saw the bags under his eyes and the way his hands shook with a mixture of caffeine and exhaustion. He’d spent the last few weeks at someone’s bedside holding another man together, someone who didn’t know whether his husband was going to live or die.

Nicke couldn’t admit that he needed Ovi to hold him together too, because objectively this was nothing. It was pathetic. This was something as simple as going to see his friends quite contentedly blasting through their recovery. Kuznetsov was ahead of schedule to be released. Burky wasn’t far behind him. Nicke would be welcomed into their rooms with bright smiles and a lot of talk and neither would mention the fact that he hadn’t been to see them yet.

But still. None of that made where he’d have to visit them any less soul-shredding to Nicklas.

“I’ll go with you,” Alex said, and Nicke opened his mouth to argue. “I can go to bed early, sleep enough. And then tomorrow I go with you to see them for the morning visit hours.”

Nicke let that sit there for a long while, resolutely staring at the end of the garden, whilst Alex watched at him across the table.

“OK,” he said eventually. He didn’t look over to Ovi but could feel him smile - that one he did when he got Nicke to do something.

“You sure you don’t need the aloe?”

“No.”

* * *

“You all ready?”

“Hang on, top me off.”

Doughty lifted the bottle and poured his boss’s drink to the brim. The room settled again, eyes on their boss and their minds on the words they expected from him. It was silent for a while as Anze looked at the clear spirit in his glass. He thought about the men he’d lost and the sacrifices they’d all made, and the open wounds they had from a war they’d been collateral damage in. But frankly, he didn’t know what to say. Which meant that there simply wasn’t anything he could say.

He lifted his glass and looked around at their faces, made sure he made eye contact with everyone in the room.

“To Adrian. To Tyler.”

His men raised his glasses in response.

* * *

“You alright?” Brad asked softly, under the voices of the others, nudging his hip against his boss’s. Patrice was leant against the kitchen counter with his elbows on the marble, bottle neck dangling from his fingertips. He looked over at Brad and gave something closer to a smile than he’d managed for some time.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He’d spent all day locked in a room with Zdeno Chara and come out looking like he’d mentally gone five rounds in a boxing ring. Brad had no idea what was agreed between the two of them, even if anything had been. All Patrice had said to him was ‘it’s fine’. Brad guessed that he would hear all about it later, but for now he’d organised some emotional relief for them all. Namely cards, beer and take-out.

The guys were playing rummy and between the stacks of cards, flailing hands and beer bottles, trails of rice and spilled sweet and sour sauce blotted the kitchen island. Patrice had a huge dining table that would have suited this more - but that was where they worked. The kitchen was where they lived, and Brad knew that his boss needed this more.

“Not playing in the next round?”

“Tuukka was taking me for all the money I had. If Pasta’s not careful he’s going to be owing the guy for the rest of his life.”

Brad shook his head. “Someone should have warned the new guy.”

“It’s a good lesson to learn.”

“I think Tyler’s still paying Tuukka off in instalments.”

“Tyler definitely should have known better, he’s terrible at cards.”

Brad laughed, drank more of his beer. It was nice to be able to talk about Tyler without it feeling like a grief, like a loss they had to bear. He still sometimes saw a flinch around Patrice’s eyes when his name come up - a reflex flicker as he remembered that Tyler wasn’t about to come through the door and answer to his name. But he’d take that over the way his boss had looked in the months after Tyler had left.

“Pittsburgh called, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? How’s Sid?”

“No change really, which I guess is a good thing. Apparently they had the FBI round at the hospital, requested a polite chat with Geno and Sid.”

“What did Geno do?”

“They didn’t get that far, Letang threw them out on their asses. They’ve probably got a month to keep them at arms’s reach with good reason and then, well…I think they’ll have to face it. And so will we.”

Patrice lowered his beer bottle. Brad was talking quietly, the other guys were roaring at McAvoy’s cards, but Patrice still leant in closer.

“So they are coming for us too?”

“That’s what Dupuis said. We should expect a visit pretty soon.”

“Have they talked to Washington?”

“Nicke said that they’d got the same warning from Pittsburgh, but they hadn’t had anyone turn up or sniff around just yet. But they’re preparing.” Brad looked up. “We’re going to have to be prepared too, Patrice. After what we did in Florida, after what Florida did, it’ll have only made things move faster.”

“I thought we’d have a little more time.”

“We might have more than we think. But what is it Chara used to say…?”

“Hope for the best, plan for the worst.”

“Exactly. Let’s hope the FBI don’t come knocking. But we need to plan for them kicking our door down.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So I am on my eighteenth month of writing this. With it being such a long writing period there have been quite a lot of team roster changes. Some might stand out more than others based on when they moved. So here are a few of the highlights just so you know. 
> 
> \- Tyson Barrie is still in Colorado. Because that’s where he belongs forever more.  
\- PK Subban is still in Nashville. For the sake of his fic all Subban brothers are in Nashville, not spread around in the league as they are in real life.  
\- Wayne Simmonds is still in Philly.  
\- Connor Carrick is in Dallas (he was there when I wrote the majority of his parts)  
\- Pittsburgh are written with a typically ‘old’ roster (Duper, MAF, etc)  
\- Rich Peverley remains in Boston and doesn’t move to Dallas.  
\- Corey Perry stays in Anaheim  
\- There is no John Tavares in Toronto, and therefore no captain.  
\- There's no Vegas Family i.e. Golden Knights 
> 
> As you’ll see quite quickly this is written in a non-linear style - I’m posting two chapters at a time, one being in the past and one in the present. Hopefully the way I’m doing it will be quite easy to pick up and understand!
> 
> In terms of warnings, there is a lot of universe typical violence. They’re mobsters, no-one is morally clean. But there’s no gratuitous acts of violence. Tyler struggles a lot with his mental health throughout the fic and he’s a mess, surrounded by other emotionally stunted idiots with bad backgrounds, so it’s not like he has great coping mechanisms. There’s a lot of drinking, swearing, insults thrown, illegal activities etc. But, due to the nature of the world I’ve built, there probably isn’t as much going on as you’d expect. There’s very little gun violence and most terrible acts/upsetting ideas are referenced rather than described.


End file.
